


The Study of Her

by Lycette_Jones



Series: The Study of Her [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, BBC Sherlock - Freeform, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Eating Disorders, Episode: s01e01 A Study in Pink, Episode: s01e03 The Great Game, Episode: s02e02 The Hounds of Baskerville, Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, F/M, Female Sherlock Holmes, Female Sherlock Holmes/Male John Watson, Irene Adler is mentioned., Jealous Sherlock, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Nightmares, POV John Watson, Post-Episode: s01e02 The Blind Banker, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Assault, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:21:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 32,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29285940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lycette_Jones/pseuds/Lycette_Jones
Summary: The story starts with John Watson meeting a strange woman called Sherlock Holmes at St Bart's hospital. Throughout their journey together the solve crimes but will John Watson be able to solve Sherlock Holmes. Dr Watson will have to solve his on case that so happens to be on his roommate Sherlock Holmes.Sherlock Holmes, A consulting detective working with Scotland Yard is hiding secrets of her own. She knows that she will have to hide them from John Watson and if she is lucky she will get away with it.Authors note// I hate writing summaries. It is not my forte. so it is rather awful. There is warnings in the tags so be warned.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: The Study of Her [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2150715
Kudos: 13





	1. The Detective.

London. The city that was supposed to help me recover. The city that practically hated me since I had come back to it. Maybe it resented the fact that I left to go to Afghanistan. People seemed to push past me which most times made me fall on to my arse. Stupid cane. Done nothing to help it. Jobs were declining me at every corner due to my injury that I had sustained during my time in the army. Nightmare. I have a therapist of course. But I don’t find it useful. Most of the time it makes me feel worse. I waddled through the park, like I did every day. What else could I do?   
“John! John Watson!” someone yelled from behind me. I reluctantly turned around to see Mike Stamford.  
“Stamford, Mike Stamford. We were at Barts together.” he said, walking towards me.   
“Yes, sorry, yes, Mike, hello” I said, taking his outstretched hand and shaking it. I was putting most of my weight on my cane.  
“I heard you were abroad somewhere getting shot at. What happened?”Stamford asked and I took an intake of breath quickly.   
“I got shot.” I said bluntly as if it was obvious. Which it was. Stamford seemed put off by my answer.   
“Coffee?” Stamford suggested. I sighed and nodded. I had nothing better to do.   
Once we got our coffee we sat back in the park, we spent the majority of it in an uncomfortable silence. I watched the pigeons steal people’s chips.   
“Are you still at Barts then?” I asked, breaking the silence and getting uncomfortable as he was staring at me.   
“Teaching now. Yeah, bright young things like we used to be. God, I hate them” He said and we both chuckled. I was never a bright kid. I was always the quiet kid who didn’t want to talk to anyone except a select group of people. “What about you, just staying in town till you get yourself sorted?” Mike asked.   
“I can’t afford London on an Army pension.” I said, looking behind him.   
“And you couldn’t bear to be anywhere else. That is not the John Watson I know.” Mike said with a smile.   
“I am not the John Watson, you know.” I said quickly which made his smile disappear.   
“Couldn’t Harry help?” Mike asked and I laughed.   
“Yeah, like that is gonna happen.” I scoffed.   
“I don’t know, get a flat share or something?” he suggested.   
“Come one, who’d want me for a flatmate?” I asked, looking at him. Mike only laughed.   
“What?”   
“You are the second person to say that to me today.” Mike said, laughing into his coffee.   
“Who was the first?” I asked.  
We stood outside St Barts. Mike paid the taxi. I had no clue why we were here. Apparently Mike wanted me to meet this person. We took the lift to the morgue and entered quietly as someone walked past us. A woman with brown hair. She seemed to be blushing as she left. We knocked and walked in. I looked around the lab. It was nothing like this when I studied here. Someone was working. She seemed to glance at me before continuing whatever she was doing.   
“It's a bit different from my day.” I commented. Mike laughed.   
“Oh, you have no idea!” Mike replied quietly.   
“Mike, can I borrow your phone? There is no signal on mine.” the woman asked, looking down.   
“And what is wrong with the landline?” he asked, checking his pockets.   
“I prefer to text.” she said.  
“Sorry, it is in my coat.” Mike said. I rolled my eyes and pulled out my phone.   
“Here, use mine.” I said, holding it out. She looked at me and then at Mike and walked towards me. That was when I noticed what she was wearing. She was wearing a white shirt with black trousers. She looked like a politician.   
“Thank you” she said, taking it out of my hand.   
“This is an old friend of mine, John Watson” Mike said with a smirk. She just seemed to ignore him.   
“Afghanistan or Iraq?” she asked suddenly and I looked at her in shock. How did she know that? Mike looked at me and smiled.   
“Sorry? What?” I asked.  
"Which was it, Afghanistan or Iraq?” she said, getting more frustrated as I didn’t answer her.   
“Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you know…” I began to say before the door swung open to reveal the woman from before.   
“Ah, Molly! Coffee, thank you” she said, passing me back my phone.   
“What happened to the lipstick?” she said, looking at the other woman who seemed to be very nervous.   
“It wasn’t working for me.” Molly said, passing her the coffee.   
“Really? I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth is too small now.” she said, taking a drink and grimacing as it hit her tongue. She placed the coffee down on the counter. Molly left quickly. Probably going to put on more lipstick.   
“How do you feel about the violin?” she asked, not looking at anyone. I looked around to see if she was talking to anyone else but Mike just smiled at me.   
“Sorry, what?” I asked.   
“I play the violin when I am thinking and sometimes I don’t talk for days on end. Would that bother you?” she said, looking at me. “Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other.” She gave me a fake smile which made me feel uneasy.   
“You told her about me?” I asked, looking at Mike.  
“Not a word” Mike replied in fascination.   
“Then who said anything about flatmates?” I asked, looking at her with a cold stare.   
“I did. I told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for.” she said, putting on a navy blue trench coat. “Here he is, just after lunch with an old friend clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn’t a difficult leap.” she said, putting on a navy blue scarf.   
“How did you know about Afghanistan?” I asked her.   
“Got my eye on a nice little place in Central London. Together, we ought to be able to afford it. We will meet there tomorrow evening, 7:00. Sorry must dash, I left my riding crop in the mortuary.” she said, walking towards the door. I turned to face her.   
“Is that it?” I asked, looking at her. She turned and looked at me with a blank expression.   
"Is that what?” she asked.   
“We have only just met and we are going to go look at a flat?” I said, I was confused.   
“Problem?” she asked, looking at Mike.   
“We don’t know a thing about each other. I don’t know where we are meeting, I don’t even know your name.” I said.   
“I know you are an Army doctor. And you have been invalidated home from Afghanistan. I know you have got a brother who is worried about you but you won’t go to him for help ‘cause you don’t approve of him, possibly because he is an alcoholic and more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know your therapist thinks your limp is psychosomatic, quite correctly, I am afraid. That is enough to be going on with, don’t you think?” she said rather quickly. I struggled to keep up. She headed towards the door and opened it. “The name is Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street. Afternoon.” she said with a wink before leaving. I stood there in shock and looked at Mike who just shrugged. What kind of a girl's name is Sherlock?  
“Yeah, he is always like that.” he said, nodding. I just stared back at the door.  
I walked back into my incredibly small ‘flat’ and sat down on the edge of my bed. Putting my stupid cane beside me. I took out my phone and looked at the message. It made no sense. I wobbled over to my laptop and searched up ‘Sherlock Holmes’, all that came up was her blog. I closed my laptop after reading almost everything that was there.   
The next evening, I walked to the requested place. I was just about to knock when a black cab came in. The person who exited the vehicle was Sherlock Holmes. I knocked on the door.   
“Hello,” she said as she paid the taxi driver. I turned around.  
“Ah, Miss Holmes.” I said as she walked towards me.   
“Sherlock, please.” she said, outstretching her hand for me to shake. I gladly took it.   
“Well, this is a prime spot. Must be expensive.” I commented looking at the black door which had gold lettering on it. ‘221B’.   
“Oh, Mrs Hudson, the landlady, she has given me a special deal. Owes me a favour. Few years back, her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help out.” she said, rather pleased with herself.   
“Sorry, you stopped her husband from being executed?” I said in disbelief.  
“Oh, no, I ensured it.” she said, smirking. I stood there for a few seconds trying to retain that information. The door swung open to reveal an older looking woman around the age of 73.   
“Sherlock!” she said, kindly taking Sherlock in for a hug. I just turned my head as I was still trying to process the information she had just given me.   
“This is Dr John Watson.” Sherlock introduced me.   
“Come in,” Mrs Hudson said, moving to the side. Sherlock walked in quickly and I followed slowly behind her. My cane hindered me from going as fast as her. The stairs were hard to get up but not only that Sherlock was getting impatient as she was waiting at the door. She opened it once I was walking up the final step. I limped in and looked around. The flat looked like a bomb had hit it. Boxes and papers lying all over the floor.   
“Not bad, this could be nice indeed.” I commented as I looked around.   
“That is what I thought so I just moved in.” she said, with a smirk. The mess was hers.   
“I thought the mess was someone else's,” I commented. Sherlock looked around awkwardly and made a half attempt at cleaning it up. I sat down with a grunt on the red armchair. Sherlock wandered around the room.   
“There are two bedrooms, if you will be needing two bedrooms.” Mrs Hudson said as she walked through the door.   
“Of course we will be needing two.” I said, giving her a look of confusion. Sherlock just smiled.   
“Don’t worry, dear. I have had couples living here before.” Mrs Hudson quipped as she went into the kitchen. “Sherlock the mess you have made!” she scolded. I just rolled my eyes at her comment.   
“I read your blog. ‘The Science of Deduction’.” I said and she turned around and smiled at me.   
“What did you think?” she asked.   
“You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb?” I said, scoffing which made her frown at me.   
“Yes. And I can read your military career in your face and your leg, and your brother’s drinking habits on your mobile phone.” she said, raising her eyebrows. She looked rather pleased with herself.   
“How?” I asked. Before she could answer, Mrs Hudson came in quickly with a newspaper.   
“What about these suicides then, Sherlock? I thought that would be right up your street. Three exactly the same.” Mrs Hudson said. I frowned slightly. Sherlock went closer to the window.   
“Four. There has been a fourth. And there is something different this time.” she said, I heard a car door slam.   
“A fourth?” Mrs Hudson said in surprise.   
I heard footsteps running up the stairs. The man who walked through the door looked like a better looking version of Philip Schofield.   
“Where?” she asked as he went further into the room.   
“Brixton, Lauriston Gardens.” the man said.   
“What’s new about this one? You wouldn’t have come to get me if it wasn’t something different.” she asked, looking at him.   
“You know how they never leave notes?” he said, sighing.   
“Yeah”  
“This one did. Will you come?” he asked, he looked like he really needed her to help whatever it was.   
“Who is on Forensics?” she asked him.   
“It is Anderson.” the man said, looking at her warily.   
“Anderson won’t work with me” she groaned.   
“Well, he won’t be your assistant,” the man said.   
“I need an assistant.” she said in frustration.   
“Will you come?” the man said, losing patience.   
“Not in a police car, I will be right behind.” she said.   
“Thank you” the man said before running back down the stairs. The door shut and Sherlock jumped up and down in excitement.   
“Brilliant! Yes! Ah! Four serial suicides, and now a note. Oh, it is Christmas. Mrs Hidson, I will be late. Might need some food.” she said, looking like an excited puppy. She looked insane. Who would be excited about serial suicides. I have begun to think that moving in with her is not the best idea.   
“I am your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper.” she said as Sherlock walked into the kitchen well I think it is a kitchen. The table seemed to have lab experiments on it. Disgusting.   
“Something cold will do.” she said, putting on her scarf. “John, have a cup of tea, make yourself at home.” she said before walking out the door. I just sat on the armchair confused as it just happened. I seem to be confused a lot today.  
“Look at her, dashing about… My husband was just the same but you are more the sitting-down type. I can tell.” she said. I don’t know what she is thinking. Me and Sherlock are not dating, we had just met. “I will make you that cuppa, you rest your leg.”   
“Damn my leg!” I yelled which made her jump and look at me shocked. “Sorry, I am so sorry. It is just this bloody thing..” I said, hitting my leg with my cane.   
“I understand, dear, I have got a hip.” she said walking into the kitchen.   
“Cup of tea would be lovely. Thank you.” I said, dropping my cane on the floor and grabbing the newspaper which was on the arm of the chair.   
“Just this once, dear. I am not your housekeeper.” she said. I opened up the newspaper which showed the article containing information about these suicides. The man who was here earlier was in it. DI Lestrade. He was in charge of the investigation but why would he need Sherlock? She didn’t seem to be a detective.   
“You are a doctor. In fact you are an Army doctor.” she said, putting on black gloves. I stood up with the help of my cane.   
“Yes,” I said, clearing my throat.   
“Any good?” she asked.   
“Very good.” I said with confidence.   
“Seen a lot of injuries, then. Violent deaths.” she said, walking towards me. “Bit of trouble, I bet?”  
“Of course. Yes” I said, looking at her in her blue eyes. “Enough for a lifetime, far too much.” I continued.   
“Want to see some more?” she asked.   
“Oh, God, yes.” I said. She turned around and I followed. “Forget the tea, Mrs Hudson. I am off out.” I shouted.   
“What? Both of you?” Mrs Hudson said from behind me.   
“There is no point, sitting at home when there is finally something fun going on!” Sherlock said, grabbing the woman’s shoulder and kissing her cheek. I smiled at the scene.   
“Look at you, all happy. It is not decent” she commented. I could see the love she had for Sherlock in her eyes.   
“Who cares about decent?” she said, smiling. “The game, Mrs Hudson, is on!” she said walking out and hailing a taxi. We both got in as quickly as possible.   
“Lauriston Gardens.” she instructed and the taxi began to drive down the London street.


	2. The Lady in Pink.

The room was empty. The place we were in seemed to be abandoned. There was a woman in pink lay there face down on the wooden floor. There was no blood, so she wasn’t shot.   
I looked at the body in shock but I couldn’t help but feel intrigued to know more.   
“You have two minutes.” Lestrade said as we stood in the abandoned room.   
“I may need a bit longer.” Sherlock said walking over to the body. She touched the women's pink coat and then her ring. Examining it thoroughly. I just looked at Lestrade who looked just as confused as I was. The dead body didn’t seem to affect Sherlock at all, in fact, I believe it fascinated her which scared me to death. Should I move in with this psychopath? I noticed scratchings on the floor. ‘Rache’. Rache is German. It means revenge. It didn’t seem likely that it was that. She probably died before finishing the word. ‘Rachel’ was the only word I could think it could be.   
“Rachel.” I whispered into myself but Sherlock heard me. She looked at me and stood up, removing her gloves.   
“Have you found anything?” Lestrade asked her.   
“Not much,” she said, looking at him.   
“She is German. ‘Rache’ means Revenge, maybe she was planning something…” Anderson suggested.   
“Why, thank you for your input.” Sherlock said, slamming the door on Anderson’s face. I laughed slightly.   
“So, she is German?” Lestrade asked and she just scoffed.   
“She was travelling from Cardiff, so far so obvious.” She said, taking out her phone.  
“Obvious?” I asked, trying to make sense of what she was saying.  
“What about the message?” Lestrade asked.   
“Dr Watson, what do you think?” Sherlock asked me. I looked around.   
“Just do as she says.” Lestrade said. I limped over the body and kneeled down. Sherlock did the same.   
“What am I doing here?” I asked, looking at her. She just smiled.   
“Helping me prove a point.” she said.  
“What point?”  
“Tell me your theories. What do you think happened?” she asked me and I just sighed. I checked her throat, it was tight which suggested that she was choking.   
“Well, her throat is rather tight which suggests she choked to death.” I said.   
“Correct but by what?” she asked.   
“It could be anything, alcohol or even drugs.” I suggested, she only smiled at me.   
“You have read the papers…”  
“The suicides…” I said slowly.   
“I gave you two minutes, so tell me what you have got.” Lestrade said in annoyance.   
Sherlock stood up and walked towards him.   
“Victim is in her late 30s. Professional person, going by her clothes. I am guessing somewhere in the media…” Sherlock said as I stood up. “- going by the frankley alarming shade of pink. Travelled from Cardiff today. It is obvious from the size of her suitcase.” she said, looking around the room.   
“Suitcase?” Lestrade asked, he seemed confused. I looked around the room, there was not any sign of a suitcase.   
“Yes, suitcase. She has been married for the past 10 years, unhappily. She has had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married.” Sherlock said.   
“Oh, for God’s sake. If you are just making this up…” Lestrade said. Sherlock walked over to the dead woman.   
“Her wedding ring. Ten years old at least.The rest of her jewellery has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. State of her marriage right there. The inside is shinier than the outside. That means it is regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It is not for work, look at her nails. She doesn’t work with her hands so what or rather who does she remove her rings for? Clearly not one lover, she’d never sustain the fiction of being single over that amount of time, so more likely a string of them. Simple.” she observed.   
“Brilliant.” I commented. Her talent is honestly fascinating. She looked at me with a slight surprise. “Sorry.”  
“Cardiff?”Lestrade said.   
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Sherlock said. She seemed to think that everyone understood what she was saying and how she got to her own conclusions.   
“It’s not obvious to me.” I said, looking at her with confusion.  
“Dear God, what is it like in your funny little brains, it must be so boring. Her coat. It is slightly damp. She has been in heavy rain the last few hours. No rain anywhere in London at that time. Under her coat collar is damp too. She has turned it up against the wind. She has got an umbrella in her left hand pocket but it is dry and unused. Not just wind, strong wind, too strong to use her umbrella. We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight so she must have come a decent distance, but she can’t have travelled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn’t dried. So, where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius of that travel time? Cardiff.” she said, showing us her phone that had the weather on it.   
“Fantastic,” I said.   
“Do you know you do that out loud?” she asked.   
“Sorry, I will shut up.” I said.   
“No. It’s… fine.” she replied. She seemed pleased to receive a compliment. Too pleased. It seemed as if she didn’t get them too often. Which is surprising considering she is a talented woman.   
“Why do you keep saying suitcase?” Lestrade asked.   
“Yes, where is it?” she asked, spinning around. “She must have had a phone or an organiser. Find out who Rachel is.”   
“She was writing Rachel?” Lestrade said.   
“No, she was leaving an angry note in German. Of course she was writing Rachel, no other word it can be. Question is, why did she wait until she was dying to write it?” Sherlock asked.   
“How do you know she had a suitcase?” Lestrade asked, folding his arms.   
“Back of her right leg. Tiny splash marks on the right heel and calf not present on the left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand. Don’t get that splash pattern any other way. Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, this clothes-conscious, could only be an overnight bag so we know she was staying one night. Where is it, what have you done with it?” Sherlock asked, looking back over the body.   
“There wasn’t a case.” Lestade said. Sherlock looked at him in fascination.   
“Say that again.” she said.   
“There wasn’t a case. There was never any suitcase.” Lestrade repeated. Sherlock stood up quickly.   
“Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase?” she shouted from the doorway. “Was there a suitcase in this house?” she said running down the stairs. Lestrade walked out the room and I followed.   
“Sherlock, there is no case!” Lestrade said, loudly.   
“But they take the poison themselves. They chew, swallow the pills themselves. There are clear signs, even you lot could not miss them.” she said, running down the stairs. Lestrade sighed in frustration.   
“Right, yeah, thanks. And?!” Lestrade exclaimed, looking over the bannister.   
“It’s murder, all of them. I don’t know how. But they are not suicides. They are killings, serial killings. We have got a serial killer. Love those. There is always something to look forward to.” Sherlock said, looking excited. She was mad. Absolutely mad.   
“Why are you saying that?” Lestrade asked. Even I was questioning why Lestrade was being so stupid.   
“Her case! Come on, where is her case? Did she eat it?” Sherlock asked and I chuckled quietly. “Someone else was here, and they took her case. So the killer must have driven her here” she said, having a sudden realization. “Forgot the case was in the car.” she mumbled.   
“She could have checked into a hotel, left her case there” I suggested.   
“No, she never got to the hotel. Look at her hair. She colour coordinates her lipstick and her shoes. She’d never have left any hotel with her hair still looking..” she stopped and stared. “Oh…” I had a feeling she was having a realization. She has a lot of those. “Oh!” she clapped.  
“Sheryl. What is it?” I asked.   
“Serial killers, always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake. We are done waiting, look at her. Really look! Houston, we have a mistake. Get on to Cardiff. Find out who Jennifer Wilson’s family and friends were. Find Rachel!” Sherlock said, running out of sight.   
“Of course, yeah, but what mistake?” Lestrade asked. I heard footsteps running back.   
“Pink!” she shouted before leaving again. I stood at the top of the stairs wondering what to do. Lestrade looked at me and smiled and I made my way down the stairs. Slowly. One day, I will be able to walk. I can only hope.   
I got onto the street and looked around for Sherlock but I couldn’t see her. I walked towards Donavan who I had met earlier.   
“She is gone.” she said simply. I looked at her.   
“Who, Sherlock Holmes?” I asked.   
“Yeah, she just took off. She does that.” she said, turning her nose up at me.   
“Is she coming back?” I asked.   
“Didn’t look like it.” she replied, coldly.   
“Sorry, where am I?” I asked, I didn’t recognize any of my surroundings.   
“Brixton” she said.   
“Do you know where I could get a cab?” I asked. Donavan groaned and lifted up the police tape.   
“Try the main road.” she said, as I walked through.   
“Thanks.”  
“You’re not her friend. She doesn’t have friends. So who are you?” She asked. I knew that I would not like her. She seemed like stuck up.   
“I just met him.” I said.   
“A bit of advice then. Stay away from her.” she said.   
“Why?” I asked quickly,   
“She gets off on it. The weirder the crime, the more she is excited. One day, Sherlock will be standing over a body and she is the one who put it there. Stay away.” she warned, walking away.   
I turned around and began to make my way to the main road. It seemed to be a far distance as my leg began to give me grief for being on it for so long. My mind drifted to Sherlock. Where would she be? Where could that suitcase be? I didn’t know whether moving in with her was the best idea. She seems mad. Too mad. Even for me. But I enjoyed the sense of freedom I have around her. I was conflicted.


	3. The Odd Meeting and The Chase.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a long chapter!

I got to the main road, I tried to hail a cab but nothing. How does Sherlock do that? Every taxi that drove past ignored me. What did I expect, I suppose. I walked past a ringing phone box, I just ignored it. It wasn’t any of my business. I watched a man go to answer it but it stopped ringing. I was about to continue on walking. I approached a red phone box that began to ring. I looked around and rolled my eyes. I walked into the phone box and picked it up.  
“Hello?” I said.   
“There is a security on the building to your left. Do you see it?” a man said on the other end of the phone. I gulped and looked. The camera was facing me.   
“Who is this?” I asked, slightly scared.   
“Do you see the camera Dr Watson?” the man repeated.   
“Yeah, I see it.” I replied, staring into it.   
“Watch,” the man said. I watched the camera move right around. “There is a camera on the building opposite you. Do you see it?”. That camera moved around also. “And finally, the camera on the building on your right?” I looked to see it, and it also moved.   
“How are you doing this?” I asked, kind of freaked out.  
“Get into the car, Dr Watson. I would make some sort of threat but I am sure your situation is quite clear to you.” the man said as a black car came in. The phone hung up.   
I got into the car. What was the worst that could happen? Well I could get murdered but I have had enough of this life anyway. A young woman sat beside me on her phone as we drove through the streets of London. She had long brown hair. She looked like a secretary.   
“Hello,” I said, trying to make conversation.   
“Hi” she replied, smiling.   
“What is your name then?” I asked as it went silent again.   
“Uhhh… Anthea'' she replied, not looking up from her phone.   
“Is that your real name?” I asked, not believing her.   
“No,” she said, looking at me before going back to her phone. I looked outside.  
I asked where we're going but she didn’t respond. I couldn’t tell where in London, I actually was.   
We arrived at what looked like an abandoned warehouse in the middle of nowhere. The car came to a sudden stop. And the driver got out to open the door for me.   
“Thanks” I said as I got out of the car. I leaned on my cane as I got out of the car. I looked ahead to see a man, leaning on an umbrella waiting for me.   
“Have a seat John.” the man said, it was the same voice as on the phone.   
“You know, I have got a phone. Very clever but you could just phone me on ma phone.” I said as I limped towards him.   
“When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes, one learns to be discreet, hence this place. Your leg ust be hurting you. Sit down.” the man said, he seemed rather condescending.   
“I don’t want to sit down.” I said quickly. The man smirked at me as we stared at each other.   
“You don’t seem very afraid.” the man commented.   
“You don’t seem very frightening.” I replied. The man laughed which made me feel uncomfortable.   
“Yes. The bravery of a soldier. Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don’t you think? What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?” he asked.   
“I don’t have one. I barely know him, I met him… yesterday” I said, frowning slightly.   
“And since then you have moved in with her and now you are solving crimes together. Might we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?” he asked sarcastically.   
“Who are you?” I asked.   
“An interested party.” he replied, bluntly.   
“Interested in Sherlock? Why? I am guessing you are not friends.” I commented.   
“You have met him. How many friends do you imagine she has? I am the closest thing to a friend that Sherlock Holmes is capable of having.” the man said, tapping his umbrella on the ground.   
“And what is that?” I asked.   
“An enemy” he replied. “In her mind, certainly. If you were to ask her, she would probably say her arch-enemy. She does love to be dramatic.” the man continued.   
“Well, thank God you are above all that” I commented sarcastically. My mobile chimed. I pulled it out. It was Sherlock. ‘Baker Street. Come at once if convenient. SH.’   
“I hope I am not distracting you.” the man said after a few seconds.   
“Not distracting me at all.” I said, looking at him.   
“Do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?” the man asked.   
“I could be wrong, but I think that is none of your business.” I said.   
“It could be.” the man said, looking at me. I shivered, slightly which caused the man to smirk.   
“It really couldn't,” I replied.   
“If you do move into, um..” the man trailed off taking out a small notebook from his coat pocket. “221B Baker Street, I’d be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis to ease your way.” the man said, shutting the notebook at putting it back into his pocket.   
“Why?” I asked. I wasn’t going to spy on her for some man who I didn’t know at all then again I don’t know her.   
“Because you are not a wealthy man.” the man replied.   
“In exchange for what?” I asked him. I folded my arms.   
“Information. Nothing indiscreet. Nothing you would feel uncomfortable with. Just tell me what she is up to.” the man answered.   
“Why?” I asked. I seem to be asking that a lot today.   
“I worry about him. Constantly.” he said, he sounded constipated.   
“That is nice of you.” I said.   
“But I would prefer for various reasons that my concern goes unmentioned. We have what you call a difficult relationship.” he said looking at his umbrella. My phone chimed again. I took out my phone. ‘If inconvenient, come anyway. SH’.   
“No,” I said, looking back up at this strange man.   
“But I haven’t mentioned a figure.” the man said.   
“Don’t bother” I said, I didn’t want to spy on her. Even though she seems mad and weird, it wouldn’t be right for me to spy on her not for him.   
“You are very loyal very quickly.” the man chuckled.   
“No I am not. I am just not interested.” I said. The man took out his notebook once more, If this was his way of persuading me he was doing a rubbish job at it.   
“Trust issues.It says here.” The man said, opening his notebook.   
“What is that?” I said gulping. I knew exactly what it was.   
“Could it be that you have decided to trust Sherlock Holmes of all people?” the man asked, looking at the notebook.   
“Who says I trust him?” I asked, frowning slightly.   
“You don’t seem to be the kind to make friends easily.” the man continued.   
“Are we done?” I asked, getting annoyed.   
“You tell me.” The man said bluntly. I turned around to walk towards the car. “I imagine people have already warned you to stay away from her, but I can see from your left hand that is not going to happen.” the man said from behind me. It caused me to stop in my tracks.   
“My what?” I asked, turning around to face him.   
“Show me” the man said but it sounded more like an order. I put my left hand up after a few moments. The man walked over to me and reached to touch it.   
“Don't,” I warned. The man gave me a stern look. I gave up and put my left hand in his right one. He seemed to examine it.   
“Remarkable.” he commented. I removed my hand quickly.   
“What is?” I asked.   
“Most people blunder round this city, and all they see are streets and shops and cars. When you walk with Sherlock Holmes, you see the battlefield. You have seen it already. Haven’t you?” The man said, walking back to where he was originally and facing me.   
“What is wrong with my hand?” I asked.   
“You have an intermittent tremor in your left hand.Your therapist thinks it is post-traumatic stress disorder. She thinks you are haunted by memories of your military service.” the man said.   
“Who the hell are you?” I asked, gulping and tightening my grip on my cane.   
“Fire her.” the man said. “She has got it the wrong way round. You are under stress right now and your hand is perfectly steady.You are not haunted by the war, Dr Watson… You miss it. Welcome back.” The man observed. He walked away, leaving me dwell on what had just happened. I could feel the anxiety within me and the stress of all that has happened hit me at once. Maybe he was right. He probably was. “Time to choose a side, Dr Watson.” The man said as he walked away swinging his umbrella.  
“I am to take you home.” the same woman from before said from behind me.   
The journey back to 221B Baker Street was a long one. I had to stop off at my flat to get my gun. Never know what will happen. I might need it. I knocked on the door and walked up the stairs slowly. I walked in to see Sherlock sprawled over a brown sofa with his eyes closed.   
“I got your text.” I said, in an attempt to get her attention. She opened her eyes.   
“Ah yes. Can I borrow your phone?” she asked. I looked at her in a mixture of annoyance and anger.   
“I had to go across London just to give you my phone.” I said, annoyed. She glanced at me and shut her eyes again and held out her hand. I placed the phone in it reluctantly. I walked over to the window to see if the car was gone. It was.   
“What is it?” she asked. I turned to look at her.  
“I just met a friend of yours,” I said.   
“What friend?” she scoffed.   
“Your arch-enemy according to him.” I said.   
“Did he offer you money to spy on me?” She asked. She looked like she was praying.   
“Yes.”   
“Did you take it?” she asked.   
“No.”   
“Shame, we could have split it. Think it through next time.” she said. I scoffed slightly.   
“Who was he?” I asked. She stood up abruptly and walked out of the living room. She walked back in with a pink suitcase. The suitcase. Sherlock has the ladies suitcase. I frowned slightly. She walked over and sat on the chair across from the red one.   
“That is her suitcase…” I said trailing off into thought. Sherlock rolled her eyes and looked at me.   
“I didn’t kill her.” She said.   
“I never said you did” I replied, she only smirked slightly.   
“It would be a logical assumption. Most people believe it is me.” she said.   
“And is it?” I asked.   
“No. Never is.” she said, opening up the suitcase. Clothes and a hairdryer were sitting in it.   
“So, where did you find it?” I asked her as I sat down. She looked at me. “Wait, are those nicotine patches?”  
“Oh, yes. Helps me think.” she said, showing me them. There were three round circles on her forearm. “Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days. Bad news for brain work.” she said.   
“It is good news for breathing.” I replied.  
“Oh breathing. Breathing is boring.” she said dismissively. I looked at her in concern and she rolled her eyes. “Can you send a text?” she asked, handing back my phone.   
“You got me over here to send a text. Why not use your phone?” I asked, in frustration. I grabbed the phone.   
“It is traceable. Yes, text. The number on my desk.” she says getting annoyed. I glared at her. “Are you doing it?”   
I picked up the small piece of paper that was lying on the wooden desk.   
“Yes.”   
“Have you done it?” she asked.  
“Ye...Hang on!”I said, typing the number in.   
“These words exactly. ‘What happened at Lauriston Gardens, I must have blacked out…” she said and I began to type. I looked at Sherlock briefly slightly concerned as to what she just said. “Twenty-two Northumbaland street. Please come.’” she finished. I was just at ‘What happened at Lauriston Gardens, I must have b…’   
“You blacked out?” I said, frowning at her.   
“What? No. No!” she replied, rummaging through the pink suitcase. “Have you sent it?” she asked   
“What is the address again?” I asked, forgetting what it was.   
“Twenty-two Northumbaland street. Hurry up!” she said impatiently. I rolled my eyes and quickly finished the message and sent it.  
“Considering the text I just made you send and the fact I have her case. I assumed you would believe I was the one to kill her.” she said.   
“Do people usually assume you are the murderer?” I asked.   
“Now and then, yes.” she said, smirking.   
“Okay… How did you get this?” I asked, pointing towards it.   
“By looking,” He said.   
“Where?” I asked, slightly exasperated.   
“The killer must have driven her to Lauriston Gardens. He could only keep her case by accident if it was in the car. Nobody could be seen with this case without drawing attention – particularly a man, which is statistically more likely – so obviously he’d feel compelled to get rid of it the moment he noticed he still had it. Wouldn’t have taken him more than five minutes to realise his mistake. I checked every backstreet wide enough for a car five minutes from Lauriston Gardens ...and anywhere you could dispose of a bulky object without being observed. Took me less than an hour to find the right skip.” she finished.   
“You got all of that from pink.” I said, in surprise.   
“Well, it had to be pink, obviously.” she said, bluntly.   
“Why didn’t I think of that?” I said to myself.   
“Because you are an idiot.” she replied. I looked at her and was startled at her comment. She rolled her eyes. “No, no, no, don’t look like that. Practically everyone is.”. She refolded her hands and then extended her index finger to point at the case. I looked to where she was pointing. “Now, look. Do you see what’s missing?” she asked.  
“How could I?” I scoffed. She just looked at me.   
“Her phone. Where’s her mobile phone? There was no phone on the body, there’s no phone in the case. We know she had one – that’s her number there; you just texted it.” she said, coldly. I tensed up at her tone.   
“Maybe she left it at home.” I suggested which made her roll her eyes at me. She puts her hands onto the arms of the chair and raises herself up so that she can lower her feet to the floor, then sits down properly on the chair. I suppressed a chuckle.   
“She has a string of lovers and she’s careful about it. She never leaves her phone at home.” she said, putting back in the note I had in my hand back into the case. I looked down at my phone.   
“Eh… Why did I just send a text?” I asked.   
“Well, the question is: where is her phone now?” Sherlock asked.   
“She could have lost it?” I suggested  
“Yes… or?” She was allowing me to get it right.   
“The murderer ... You think the murderer has the phone?” I asked a bit freaked out.   
“Maybe she left it when she left her case. Maybe he took it from her for some reason. Either way, the balance of probability is that the murderer has her phone.” Sherlock said.   
“Sorry, what are we doing? Did I just text a murderer?! What good will that do?” I asked, just as my mobile started to ring. I picked it up. It only said it was from a withheld number. I showed Sherlock and she just smirked.   
“A few hours after his last victim, and now he receives a text that can only be from her. If somebody had just found that phone they’d ignore a text like that, but the murderer …” she said as the phone continued to ring. “... Would panic” she finished as the phone stopped ringing. She flipped the lid of the suitcase closed and stood up, walking across the room to pick up her navy jacket. As I continued to stare down at my phone, Sherlock put on her suit jacket and walked towards the door.  
“Have you talked to the police?” I asked, looking up at her.   
“Four people are dead. There isn’t time to talk to the police.” she scoffed.   
“So, why are you talking to me?” I asked. Sherlock reached behind the door to take her greatcoat from the hook. As she looks across towards me she seems to notice that something is missing from the mantelpiece.  
“Mrs Hudson took my skull.” she said.   
“So I’m basically filling in for your skull?”  
“Relax, you are doing fine.” she said, putting on her coat. I didn’t move. “Well?”  
“Well what?” I repeated.   
“Well, you could just sit there and watch telly.” she suggested, it sounded more like mockery.   
“You want me to come with you?” I asked, scoffing.   
“I like company when I go out, and I think better when I talk aloud. The skull just attracts attention, so …” she trailed off. I smiled briefly. “Problem?”   
“Yeah, Sergeant Donovan.” I said.   
“What about her?” Sherlock asked, rolling her eyes.   
“She said ... You get off on this. You enjoy it.” I said. Sherlock smiled.   
“And I said “dangerous,” and here you are.” she said nonchalantly. She turned around instantly and walked out the door. I sat in the armchair for a few seconds. I picked up my cane and pulled myself up angrily.   
“Damn it!” I exclaimed. I walked out of the door and caught up with Sherlock who was waiting outside for me. Git.   
“Where are we going?” I asked, as we walked down the busy street.  
“Northumberland Street’s a five-minute walk from here.” she said.  
“And you think the murderer is going to be there?” I asked.   
“No – I think he’s brilliant enough. I love the brilliant ones. They’re always so desperate to get caught.” she said smiling. I shivered slightly. She is not right. She seems to enjoy this too much. But why? Why did she seem to enjoy seeing dead people and find the culprit?  
“Why?” I asked, not because I wanted to but because I felt I had to.   
“Appreciation! Applause! At long last the spotlight. That’s the frailty of genius, John: it needs an audience.” she said. “This is his hunting ground, right here in the heart of the city. Now that we know his victims were abducted, that changes everything. Because all of his victims disappeared from busy streets, crowded places, but nobody saw them go.” She held her hands up on the either side of her head as if she was trying to focus her thoughts. I looked at her in confusion. “Think! Who do we trust, even though we don’t know them? Who passes unnoticed wherever they go? Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?” she finished. Assassins? I thought. I looked around. Taxi drivers?   
“Dunno. Who?” I asked. I am most likely wrong so I thought I should save myself from the embarrassment.   
“I haven’t the foggiest. Hungry?” she said, shrugging. She lowered her hands and led me to a small restaurant. The waiter near the door clearly knows her and gestures to the reserved table at the front window. I looked around. It was nice. It was very cozy. Sherlock took off her coat and sat down on the bench seat at the side of the table and immediately turned sideways so that she could see clearly out of the window. As Billy took the ‘Reserved’ sign off the table, I sat down on the other bench seat with my back to the window, and took off my jacket.   
“Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Keep your eyes on it.” she said, nodding in the direction of the building across the street.  
“He isn’t just gonna ring the doorbell, though, is he? He’d need to be mad.” I said, looking outside.   
“Well he has killed four people.” she stated and I nodded slowly. A man came over and shook her hand. I looked up confused. He was a beefy man. Long black beard and bushy eyebrows. He was bald as well.   
“Sherlock” the man welcomed, beaming at her. He reached over to shake my hand as well. “Anything on the menu. You get for free” he said while placing menus in front of us.   
“Anything for you and your date.” the man said, smiling.   
“I am not her date.” I said, bluntly.   
“Do you want anything to eat?” she said at the same time. We looked at each other.   
“This woman got me off a murder charge.” the man said, hitting her in the back.   
“This is Angelo.” she introduced. I smiled and nodded at him. “Three years ago I successfully proved to Lestrade at the time of a particularly vicious triple murder that Angelo was in a completely different part of town, house-breaking.” she said. I looked at her. How?  
“She cleared my name,” the man said to me. I looked at him trying to figure out what he had done.   
“I cleared it a bit. Anything happening opposite?” Sherlock asked, turning back to look out of the window.   
“Nothing,” the man said. He looked at me and said “But for this woman, I’d have gone to prison.”   
“You did go to prison,”she said.   
“I’ll get a candle for the table. It’s more romantic.” Angelo said, walking off.   
“I am not her date!” I said, loudly. Sherlock glanced at me and turned back to the window. She pushed her menu away from her but shoved one towards me.   
“You may as well eat, we may have a long wait.” she said. I opened the menu only then releasing how hungry I was.   
The food arrived rather quickly. Which was good. I wouldn’t want to be a hindrance to Sherlock. I ate in silence as Sherlock was looking out the window. And drumming her fingers on the table which was getting annoying.   
“People don’t usually have arch-enemies,” I said, suddenly. It takes a few moments before Sherlock turns around to face me.   
“I’m sorry?” she said, giving me a look of confusion.   
“In real life. There are no arch-enemies in real life. Doesn’t happen.” I said, eating.   
“Doesn’t it? Sounds a bit dull.” she said, disinterestedly. Looking out of the window.   
“So, who did I meet?” I asked in the hope she would give me an answer. She faced away from the window once more.   
“What do real people have, then, in their ‘real lives’?” she said, she looked slightly annoyed.   
“Friends; people they know; people they like; people they don’t like ... Girlfriends, boyfriends …” I said, chewing.   
“Yes, well, as I was saying – dull.” she said, looking back out of the window.   
“You don’t have a girlfriend, then?” I asked. I assumed she was gay or bisexual considering by what she wears.  
“Girlfriend? No, not really my area.” she said, bluntly. I just nodded before feeling guilty for assuming she was gay or anything else.   
“Oh, right. D’you have a boyfriend?” I asked, quickly. She turned her head sharply. “Which is fine by the way.” I added.   
“I know it is fine.” she said, looking slightly confused.   
“So you’ve got a boyfriend then?” I asked again.   
“No” she said, she looked like she was observing me.   
“Right. Okay. You’re unattached. Like me.” I said, looking down at my plate. “Fine. Good”   
Sherlock looks at me suspiciously for a moment but then turns her attention back out of the window again. However, she then appears my statement in her head. I could tell by the confused look on her face. She looks a little startled. Turning her head towards me again.   
“John, um ... I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I’m flattered by your interest, I’m really not looking for any …” she said awkwardly.   
“No, I am not asking,” I said, clearing my throat. “ I am just saying it is all fine.”  
She turns her attention back to the street. I look away with a bemused expression on my face as if asking myself, ‘What the heck was all that about?!’ Just then, Sherlock nods out of the window. I looked behind me.   
“Look across the street. Taxi.Stopped. Nobody gets in, and nobody gets out.” she said. I looked at the taxi. I was right. A taxi. Meaning the driver is the murderer. “Why a taxi? Oh, that’s clever. Is it clever? Why is it clever?”  
“That is him?” I asked.   
“Don’t stare,” Sherlock warned.   
“You are staring” I accused.   
“We both can’t stare,” she said. Getting to her feet, she grabs her coat and scarf and heads for the door. I pick up my own jacket and follow her .... Outside the door, Sherlock shrugs himself into her coat while keeping her eyes fixed on the taxi. The passenger continues to look around her, then turns and looks out the back window. His gaze falls on the restaurant and he looks at it for a few moments while Sherlock stares back at him, then the man turns towards the front of the vehicle and the taxi begins to pull away from the kerb. Sherlock immediately heads towards it without bothering to check the road that she’s running into and is almost run over by a car coming from her left. The driver slams on the brakes and stops the car but Sherlock, always keen to take the quickest route, allows her forward impetus to carry him onto the top of the bonnet. She rolls over the bonnet, lands on her feet on the other side and then runs after the taxi. As the driver of the car angrily sounds his horn, I put one hand on the bonnet and vaults over the front of the car, apologising to the driver as I go.   
“Sorry!” I said loudly at the driver.   
I chased after Sherlock, who runs a few yards up the road before realising that she’s not going to catch the taxi and slows to a halt. I catch up and stop beside her.  
“I have got the cab number.” I said.   
“Good for you,” she says bluntly. She brings his hands up to either side of her head and concentrates. “Right turn, one way, roadworks, traffic lights, bus lane, pedestrian crossing, left turn only, traffic lights.” she said, quickly. I was just confused. Having worked out the route,she lifts her head and sees a man unlocking the door to a nearby building. Sherlock races towards the man and grabs him, shoving him out of the way before charging into the building.   
“Sorry.” I said as we ran past him. Reaching the top of the stairs, Sherlock runs to the edge and looks over before seeing a shorter metal spiral staircase leading down the side of the building to another door one floor lower. I start to panic. Was she crazy!. She gallops down the stairs and climbs onto the railing before leaping across the gap to the next building.Yes she was crazy. I scrambled onto the railing and followed. Sherlock ran across to the other side of the roof and again leapt across to the next building. I raced after him, but then I skidded to a halt when I realised that the gap may be too big for me to jump across. I hesitate, looking down at the drop beneath me. I gulped. I was scared.   
“Come on John! We are losing him!” Sherlock shouts. I backed up a few paces and braced myself. I take a run-up and jump the gap. Dropping down onto a walkway along the side of the building, We run onwards. The taxi continues its journey on the ground and We gallop down another metal staircase, then run to a ledge and drop down into an alleyway before running onwards again. Sherlock leads me down the alleyway. Sherlock turns the corner and races down the last part of the alley, only to see the taxi drive past the end, heading to the left. I was running out of breath slightly but Sherlock didn’t seem close to giving up. Without breaking her stride she races out of the alleyway turns right. We ran down the street.We head down more alleyways and side streets towards the interception point in Wardour Street and finally, Sherlock races out of a side street and hurls herself into the path of the approaching cab, which screeches to a halt as he crashes hard into the bonnet. Scrabbling in his left coat pocket, Sherlock pulls out an I.D. badge and flashes it at the driver as he runs to the right hand side of the cab. I stood there in panic.Was she hurt? I take it she was fine.  
“Police! Open her up!” Sherlock said, hitting the window. She was panting slightly as she opened the door. She takes one look at him and straightens up exasperated.   
“No,” she says simply. She leaned down again to have a look at the man again.   
“Teeth, tan: what – Californian?” she says. She then looks down at his suitcase. “L.A., Santa Monica. Just arrived.” she says. Grimacing as she straightens up. I will have to check that.   
“How could you possibly know that!” I said, loudly.   
“The luggage. It’s probably your first trip to London, right, going by your final destination and the route the cabbie was taking you?” she asked the American passenger.   
“Are you the police?” the passenger asked.  
“Yeah” she said quickly flashing an I.D. “Everything alright?” she asked.   
“Yeah” the passenger said smiling. Sherlock paused for a moment as if she was wondering how to finish this conversation, then smiled falsely at the man.  
“Welcome to London.” she said, immediately walking away, leaving me staring blankly for a moment before I stepped closer to the taxi door and looked in at the passenger. I smiled briefly.   
“Er, any problems, just let us know.” I said, pretending to be a police officer. The man nodded and I smiled politely. slams the cab door shut. The man looks round to the taxi driver in bewilderment. I walked to where Sherlock had stopped a few yards behind the vehicle. I sighed. She looks at me and smirks slightly.   
“Basically just a cab that happened to slow down.” I said.   
“Basically.” she replied plainly.   
“Not the murderer.” I said.   
“Not the murderer, no” she said exasperated.   
“Where did you get the ID?” I asked, as she was playing with it in her hand she passed it to me. ‘Detective Inspector Lestrade’. I smiled.   
“I pickpocket him when he’s annoying. You can keep that one, I’ve got plenty at the flat.” she said, with a smirk. I nod and giggled silently which made her confused. “What?”  
“Nothing, just “Welcome to London”.” I said. Sherlock chuckles, then looks down the road to where a police officer has apparently gone to investigate why the cab has stopped in the middle of the road. The passenger has got out and is pointing down the road towards us. I sighed, so much as for not getting caught.   
“Got your breath back?” she asked, facing me.   
“Ready when you are.” I said. We turn and run down the road. The London air fills my lungs. I felt free. Sherlock’s hair was getting in her eyes as she was running. Probably needs a haircut. It is rather long. I saw the 221B door in the distance.


	4. The Drugs Bust.

We arrived back finally and walked along the hallway, breathing heavily. I hung his jacket on a hook on the wall while Sherlock draped her coat over the bottom of the bannisters. We leaned against the wall and caught our breath. I swear at that moment, I could hear footsteps from the above flat. I decided to ignore it. Probably Mrs Hudson cleaning.   
“Okay, that was ridiculous” I commented. Sherlock looked at me and chuckled slightly. “That was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done.”   
“And you invaded Afghanistan.” she commented. We both looked at each other and laughed.  
“That wasn’t just me.” I responded, raising my eyebrows. Sherlock chuckles slightly.   
“Why aren’t we back at the restaurant?” I asked.   
“Oh, they can keep an eye out. It was a long shot anyway.” she said, becoming more serious and waving her hand dismissively.   
“Why were we there then?” I asked. Sherlock cleared her fault before looking at me.   
“Oh, just passing the time and proving a point.” she said.   
“What point?” I asked.   
“You” she said, simply. She turned towards the door where Mrs Hudson resides. “Mrs Hudson! Doctor Watson will take the room upstairs.”  
“Says who?” I asked, folding my arms. She smirked.   
“Says the man at the front door.” she said, looking at it. I turned my head towards the door just as someone knocked on it three times. I turned back to look at Sherlock in surprise. Sherlock smiles at me. I stared at him for a moment, then walked along the hall to answer the door. Sherlock leans her head against the wall and blows out a breath. I opened the door and found Angelo standing outside.  
“Sherlock texted me,” Angelo said, lifting up my cane. I had accidentally left at the restaurant.   
“Ah” I replied. I turn to look at Sherlock who just smiles at me. I turn back to Angelo. “Er, thank you. Thank you.” I said, taking the can from him. Angelo just smiled as I shut the door. As I came back in and closed the door, Mrs Hudson came out of her flat and hurried over to us. She sounds upset and tearful as she speaks.  
“Sherlock, what have you done?” she asked, panicking.   
“Mrs Hudson?” Sherlock asked, looking concerned.   
“Upstairs.” Mrs Hudson replied, pointing to the stairs. Sherlock turns and hurries up the stairs, I followed her without using my cane. Sherlock opens the living room door and goes inside, where she finds D.I. Lestrade sitting casually in the armchair facing the door. Other police officers were going through Sherlock’s possessions. Sherlock storms over to Lestrade. I stood by the door. I saw Anderson and Donovan. They looked so excited to be here. My stomach churned slightly.   
“What are you doing?” she asked angrily.   
“Well, I knew you’d find the case. I’m not stupid.” Lestrade said which caused the other officers to laugh.   
“You can’t just break into my flat.” she said in frustration.   
“And you can’t withhold evidence. And I didn’t break into your flat.” Lestrade said as if he knew something she didn’t.  
“What do you call this then?” she asked, waving her arms about. I frowned slightly. Lestrade pursed his lips together.   
“A drug bust” he said, looking at the other officers before looking at Sherlock innocently.   
“Seriously?! This guy, a junkie?! Have you met him?!” I exclaimed. Sherlock turned and walked towards me, biting his lip nervously. “I’m pretty sure you could search this flat all day, you wouldn’t find anything you could call recreational.” I continued, looking over Sherlock’s shoulder. Lestrade smirked.   
“John, you probably want to shut up now.” Sherlock said, standing really close to me.   
“But, come on…” I trailed off. I looked into Sherlock’s eyes. Sherlock held her gaze for a long moment and I realised how serious she’s looking. “No…”  
“What?” she said.   
“You?” I said, slightly in shock. She didn’t look like a type to take drugs.   
“Shut up!” she said angrily. I closed my mouth almost instantly. “I’m not your sniffer dog.” she says, looking at Lestrade.   
“No, Anderson‘s my sniffer dog.” Lestrade said, nodding towards the kitchen.  
“What, An…” she trailed off. The closed doors to the kitchen slide open and reveal several more officers in there searching through the room. Anderson turns towards the living room and raises his hand in sarcastic greeting. I rolled my eyes. I may have just met him, but even I knew I disliked him.   
“What are you doing here on a drug’s bust!” Sherlock said angrily.   
“Oh, I volunteered,” Anderson said venomously. I clenched my hands into fists. Sherlock turned away.   
“They all did. They’re not strictly speaking on the drugs squad, but they’re very keen.” Lestrade said. I turned to look back at the kitchen. Just as Donovan came into view from the kitchen, holding a small glass jar with some white round objects in it. Eyes. Why did Sherlock have eyes?  
“Are these human eyes?” she asked, holding up the bag.   
“Put those back!” Sherlock exclaimed.   
“They were in the microwave.” Donovan replied.   
“It is an experiment.” Sherlock replied, frustrated. An experiment? On what?   
“Keep looking guys” Lestrade ordered as he stood up and turned to Sherlock who began to pace angrily.   
“This is childish.” Sherlock seethes. She was tying her hair up in a ponytail.   
“I am dealing with a child. Sherlock, this is our case. I’m letting you in, but you do not go off on your own. Clear?” Lestrade said, which made Sherlock stop pacing and glared at him.   
“Oh, what, so-so-so you set up a pretend drugs bust to bully me?” she scoffs. I felt bad for her. If I was an ex- addict, I would hate to be not believed.   
“It stops pretending if they find anything.” Lestrade says. He seems to believe that she isn’t clean. Which in my books, isn’t right.   
“I am sure she is clean” I interrupted. Sherlock turned and glared at me.   
“I am clean,” she says loudly.   
“Is your flat? All of it?” Lestrade asks. I just glare at him.   
“I don’t even smoke.” she says, unbuttoning the cuff on her left arm and lifts it up to reveal one nicotine patch.  
“Neither do I,” Lestrade replies doing the same thing Sherlock did a few moments earlier. “So let’s work together. We’ve found Rachel.” Sherlock rolled her eyes slightly. She turned back to him.   
“Who is she?” she asked.   
“Jennifer Wilson’s only daughter.” Lestrade replied, I sensed that he was slightly tense.   
“Her daughter? Why would she write her daughter’s name? Why?” Sherlock asked, frowning. At that moment, Anderson came strolling into the room.   
“Never mind that. We found the case” Anderson says, pointing at the pink case. “According to someone, the murderer has the case, and we found it in the hands of our favourite psychopath.” he said, sounding that he was accusing Sherlock of being a murderer. I scoffed.   
“I’m not a psychopath, Anderson. I’m a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research.” she replies disparagingly. Sociopath? I looked at her. She did seem to show signs of hostility especially towards people she doesn’t like such as Anderson and Donovan. She does not seem to show any guilt for any wrongdoings. However that is all I can see. Sherlock looks back at Lestrade.   
“You need to bring Rachel in. You need to question her. I need to question her.” Sherlock said, forcefully. Lestrade looked at me and sighed before looking at Sherlock.   
“She is dead.” he replies, sadly.   
“Excellent!” Sherlock says, sounding too excited. I looked up at her startled. There is a lack of empathy that I have read about when learning about Sociopathy in my uni days. “How, when and why? Is there a connection? There has to be.” Sherlock says passionately.   
“Well, I doubt it, since she’s been dead for fourteen years. Technically she was never alive. Rachel was Jennifer Wilson’s stillborn daughter, fourteen years ago.” Lestrade replies sadly. I grimaced sadly and turned away. However, Sherlock on the other hand looks confused.   
“No, that’s ... that’s not right. How ... Why would she do that? Why?” Sherlock questioned the room.   
“Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments? Yup – sociopath; I’m seeing it now.” Anderson comments. I roll my eyes. Sherlock turned around and faced him with an exasperated look on her face.   
“She didn’t think about her daughter. She scratched her name on the floor with her fingernails. She was dying. It took effort. It would have hurt.” Sherlock said. I nodded. She began to pace the room again.   
“You said that the victims all took the poison themselves, that he makes them take it. Well, maybe he ... I don’t know, talk to them? Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow.” I suggested.   
“Yeah, but that was ages ago. Why would she still be upset?” she asked me as she turned around and looked me in the eye. I stare at her in shock. Sherlock seems to hesitate as she realizes that everyone in the flat has stopped what they’re doing and has fallen silent. She glances around the room and then looks awkwardly at me. I just sighed at her.   
“Not good?” she asked me quietly. I glanced at all the others before looking at her.  
“Bit not good. Yeah” I replied. Sherlock walks closer to me looking at me intently. She was taller than me.   
“Yeah, but if you were dying ... if you’d been murdered: in your very last few seconds what would you say?” she asked me. I gulped. I remembered being shot. I thought I was going to die then.   
“Please, God, let me live.” I said, repeating what I said to the world as I lay on my back, with blood pouring out of my shoulder. I shivered slightly.   
“Oh, use your imagination!” she said, sounding exasperated once again.   
“I don’t have to.” I replied. Sherlock seems to recognize the look of pain on my face. As she pauses momentarily and blinks a couple of times, shifting her feet apologetically.   
“Yeah, but if you were clever, really clever ... Jennifer Wilson running all those lovers: she was clever.” she says, pacing again. She is very repetitive. She seems to pace when she is on high alert or even anxious. If this is what anxious looks like on Sherlock. I could only guess.   
“Isn’t the doorbell working? Your taxis here, Sherlock.” Mrs Hudson said, coming into the room.   
“I didn’t order a taxi. Go away.” Sherlock said, harshly.   
“Oh, dear. They’re making such a mess. What are they looking for?” she asked, looking around the room that was still being searched. Surely if there were drugs, they would have found them by now. This was getting beyond ridiculous.   
“It’s a drug bust, Mrs Hudson.” I informed her, glaring at Lestrade. He smiled weakly.   
“But they’re just for my hip. They’re herbal soothers.” she replied, anxiously.   
“Shut up, everybody, shut up! Don’t move, don’t speak, don’t breathe. I’m trying to think. Anderson, face the other way. You’re putting me off.” Sherlock shouts rather suddenly, causing me and Mrs Hudson to jump a little in fright.   
“What? My face is?!” Anderson replies defensively.   
“Everybody quiet and still. Anderson, turn your back” Lestrade orders.   
“Oh, for God’s sake!” He exclaims.   
“Your back, now, please!” Lestrade orders, sternly. Anderson rolls his eyes and turns around.   
“Come on, think. Quick!” Sherlock says to herself. Mrs Hudson looked anxious.   
“What about your taxi?” Mrs Hudson asks once again. Sherlock turns around.   
“MRS HUDSON!” she shouts furiously. I grabbed the top of the armchair. I could feel the tension in the room and I believe that was just from Sherlock. Mrs Hudson ran down the stairs quickly. “Oh. Ah! She was clever, clever, yes! She’s cleverer than you lot and she’s dead. Do you see, do you get it? She didn’t lose her phone, she never lost it. She planted it on him. When she got out of the car, she knew that she was going to her death. She left the phone in order to lead us to her killer.” she said, loudly. She clapped her hands together and smiled.   
“But how?” Lestrade asks her. Sherlock stops pacing and looks at him.   
“Wha...? What do you mean, how?” she asks, looking rather confused. I guess she expects everyone to know what she is talking about. Lestrade just shrugs. “Rachel!” she says. I looked around the room who were looking at her blankly including myself. “Oh, look at you lot. You’re all so vacant. Is it nice not being me? It must be so relaxing. Rachel is not a name.” she said sternly. I glared at her.   
“Then what is it?” I asked as equally sternly as she was a few moments ago.   
“John, on the luggage, there’s a label. E-mail address.” she said, pointing towards the case. She sat down at the dining table. Well I think it was a dining table, it was messy. She opened it as I reached over to read the label.   
“Er, jennie.pink@mephone.org.uk “ I said, slowly enough so she could hear all of it.   
“Oh, I’ve been too slow. She didn’t have a laptop, which means she did her business on her phone, so it’s a smartphone, it’s email enabled.” she said, opening up the Mephone’s website and typing the email in quickly. “So there was a website for her account. The username is her email address …and all together now, the password is?”   
I walked over to stand beside her.   
“Rachel” I said. Sherlock smirked.   
“So, what. We can read her emails. Wow.” Anderson said, turning around. I turned around.   
“Shut up Anderson. Turn around.” I said, loudly. Anderson scoffed and turned around.   
“Anderson, don’t talk out loud. You lower the I.Q. of the whole street. We can do much more than just read her emails. It’s a smartphone, it’s got GPS, which means if you lose it you can locate it online. She’s leading us directly to the man who killed her.” Sherlock said, smirking at me as he insulted Anderson.   
“Unless he got rid of it.” Lestrade suggested.   
“We know he didn't,” I said. Sherlock looks at the screen impatiently. I heard footsteps come up the stairs.   
“Sherlock, dear. This taxi driver …” Mrs Hudson said. Sherlock stood up and walked towards her.   
“Mrs Hudson, isn’t it time for your evening soother?” Sherlock asked, as I sat in her now empty seat and watched a clock spinning round on the website as it claims that the phone will be located in under three minutes. I wonder where it is.   
“We need to get vehicles, get a helicopter. We’re gonna have to move fast. This phone battery won’t last forever.” I hear Sherlock say to Lestrade as I continue to watch the clock spin around. I began to tap my fingers on the oak table.   
“We’ll just have a map reference, not a name.” Lestrade said. I had my back to them so I couldn’t see their facial expressions.   
“It is a start!” Sherlock exclaims. The computer now showed a map I am now zooming in on the location of the phone. It was at Baker Street. It was here.   
“Sherlock…” I said trying to get her attention.   
“It narrows it down from just anyone in London. It’s the first proper lead that we’ve had.” Sherlock says to Lestrade.   
“Sherlock…” I said, again. I heard footsteps come towards me.   
“What is it? Quickly, where?” she asked, looking over my shoulder.   
“It is here. It’s in two two one Baker Street.” I said, looking at the bright blue dot in the middle of the screen.   
“How can it be here? How?” she asked, straightening up.  
“Well, maybe it was in the case when you brought it back and it fell out somewhere.” Lestrade suggested.   
“What, and I didn’t notice it? Me? I didn’t notice?” Sherlock asked, sounding offended.   
“Anyway, we texted him and he called back.” I said to Lestrade.   
“Guys, we’re also looking for a mobile somewhere here, belonging to the victim …”Lestrade said to his colleagues.   
Sherlock looks like she has frozen on the spot. She looked like she was remembering something. A moment later, Sherlock’s phone goes off. It was a text message. I couldn’t see the message.   
“Sherlock, are you okay?” I asked her, after a few moments.   
“What? Yeah, yeah, I-I’m fine.” she replied. She didn’t sound fine. I saw her gulp before slowly making her way towards the door.  
“So, how can the phone be here?” I asked.   
“Dunno,” she replies, staring at the door. I frowned. Even though I have only just met her, I know she knows something. ‘Dunno’ isn’t an answer Sherlock would give. Sherlock heads towards the door.  
“Where are you going?” I asked, giving her a look of concern.   
“Fresh air. Just popping outside for a moment. Won’t be long.” she said, slowly. I frown as she leaves the room.   
“Are you sure, you are alright?” I shouted.   
“I am fine, John.” She replies as I hear the front door slam shut.


	5. The Cabbie and The Chinese Takeaway.

I walked over to the window and looked down at the main road. Sherlock stood in front of a taxi talking to some cabbie driver. I continued to watch. I folded my arms. Sherlock got in the taxi and it drove down the busy London road. I was confused. Where was he going?   
“Sherlock just got in a cab.” I said, loud enough for everyone to hear me. I hear Donovan tut beside Lestrade. Lestrade huffed.   
“I told you she does that. she bloody left again. We’re wasting our time!” Donovan said loudly, walking into the messy kitchen filled with Police and detectives. I just rolled my eyes. “You know, she’s just a lunatic, and she’ll always let you down, and you’re wasting your time. All our time.” she said, coming back to stand beside Lestrade.   
“She isn’t a lunatic.” I said, bluntly.   
“How would you know. You just met her.” Donovan said, walking off. Lestrade shook his head.   
“Okay, everybody. Done ’ere.” Lestrade says loudly. He smiled at me before walking down the stairs closely followed by everyone.   
I went to sit in the armchair. I closed my eyes. Where would she go with a cabbie? It dawned on me. The cab driver. He is the murderer. It makes sense. As Sherlock said earlier. ‘Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?’. Cab drivers look for passengers. Of course! That makes sense. I cursed at myself for only realizing it now. Sherlock could get murdered. I walked over to the laptop which still had the find my phone website displayed on it. The clock was spinning possibly meaning that the taxi was still moving down the roads of London. I sat at the dining room table, waiting for it to load. I looked over to see my cane leaning on the chair. I walked over to it and stared at it. Looks like I don’t need it anymore. I would say I was pleased but truly I liked people looking at me even if they were judging me. I smirked at myself before turning on my heel and looked at the laptop once more. The clock stopped spinning. The taxi was at Roland-Kerr College. I ran down the stairs not bringing my cane. I didn’t need it. Not anymore.   
I got into a random taxi, I have the computer open on my lap and I'm holding my phone to my ear.   
“No, Detective Inspector Lestrade. I need to speak to him. It’s important. It’s an emergency!” I said to Detective Inspector Lestrade who seemed to get into a panic. “Left here please.” I instructed the cab driver. I finally arrived at Roland-Kerr College. As the taxi pulled away, I tucked the laptop into my jacket and looked at the two identical buildings in front of him. Clearly the map isn’t precise enough to indicate exactly where the phone is. After a moment, I make my choice and head towards the buildings. I don’t know if I have the right one. I could be completely wrong. I probably was. I am not Sherlock Holmes. What if she was dead already? What if she was lying in the college face down. Dead. I walked around the college looking in every classroom. “Sherlock!” I shouted in the hope she would hear me. I ran up a flight of stairs and burst into a room and looked out the window. Across in the other building was no other than Sherlock bloody Holmes talking to the cabbie murderer.   
“SHERLOCK!” I cried out in horror. All I could see that was a danger to Sherlock was the gun that the old man was holding. I tried to think. What could I do? What should I do? Call the police? No, there is no time for that. I looked across the courtyard to see Sherlock holding a white pill in the air. “No” I said to myself. I pulled out my gun from my jacket pocket and pointed it towards the old man. I waited a few moments. Luckily for me the cabbie stood in front of the window. Sherlock was about to drop the pill into her mouth and I pressed the trigger. I watched the golden bullet smash through the two windows and hit the old man in the chest. I hid away from the window as I noticed Sherlock walking towards it. I sighed in relief. I peeked around the corner to see that Sherlock was standing on the man. She looked like she was wanting answers. I walked out of the room quickly and phoned the police and an ambulance in case Sherlock needed it. I walked into the night air. I just shot a man. He was a murderer. I did what was right. That is the only thing that would make me feel better. He was a bad man. Not a good one. I was a good one. I did what was right. I will have to keep telling myself that. I heard police sirens and Ambulance sirens and soon saw them rushing down the street. Moments later, I saw Sherlock walking out of the opposite college. I couldn’t make out her facial expression. It was plain. She looked shaken up but maybe that is what I want to see. She was rushed into an ambulance and was wrapped in an orange blanket. I stood next to a police car after talking to Donovan and waited whilst she talked to Lestrade. She looked at me, Suspicion in her eyes. She smirked before walking over to me and throwing the blanket into one of the nearby police cars.   
“Um, Sergeant Donovan’s just been explaining everything, the two pills. Been a dreadful business, hasn’t it? Dreadful.” I said, playing innocent.   
“Nice shot.” she said quietly, smirking at me.   
“Yes. Yes, must have been, through that window.” I said, knowing I was failing at pretending to be innocent.   
“Well, you’d know,” she said. I looked at her knowing that she knows I was the one who shot the man. “Need to get the powder burns out of your fingers. I don’t suppose you’d serve time for this, but let’s avoid the court case.” she said, quietly. I cleared my throat and looked around nervously. “Are you alright?” she asked me. I did hear slight concern in her voice.   
“Yes, of course I am alright” I said. Truth was, I was fine. I don’t know if that is scary or not but I didn’t care. I did what was right.   
“Well you did just kill a man” she replied. I rolled my eyes.   
“Yes I did.” I said, nodding. “But he wasn’t a nice man.” I said and Sherlock nodded.   
“No. No, he wasn’t really, was he?” she says, sighing.  
“And frankly a bloody awful cabbie.” I added which made her chuckle. We start walking away from the scene.  
“That’s true. He was a bad cabbie. Should have seen the route he took us to get here!” she joked. I laughed and she smiled.   
“Stop! Stop, we can’t giggle, it’s a crime scene! Stop it!” I said as she was laughing away not caring that others were staring at her.  
“You’re the one who shot him. Don’t blame me.” Sherlock said rather loudly.  
“Keep your voice down!” I warned as I noticed we were approaching Sally Donovan who looked like she heard.  
“Sorry – it’s just, um, nerves, I think.” I said to her as we passed.  
“Sorry.” she said to Donovan. I cleared my throat as we walked past her out of earshot.  
“You were gonna take that damned pill, weren’t you?” I accused. Sherlock stopped in her tracks and turned to face me.  
“Course I wasn’t. Biding my time. Knew you’d turn up.” she said, quickly.   
“No you didn’t. It’s how you get your kicks, isn’t it? You risk your life to prove you’re clever.” I said.  
“Why would I do that?” she asked.  
“Because you’re an idiot.” I said, bluntly. Sherlock smiled for a long time. After a moment she forces the smile down  
“ Dinner?” she asked.  
“Starving.” I replied. We turned and began to walk again.   
“End of Baker Street, there’s a good Chinese stays open ’til two. You can always tell a good Chinese by examining the bottom third of the door handle.” Sherlock said. As she has been speaking, a few yards ahead of us was a car that had pulled up and the man who abducted me earlier got out. Not-Anthea is with him. I just stare at them.  
“Sherlock. That’s him. That’s the man I was talking to you about” I said. Sherlock looks at the man and scoffs.  
“I know exactly who that is.” Sherlock said, walking closer to the man and stopping. She looks at him in anger. I glanced around to see where the police are in case he needs to summon their help.  
“So, another case cracked. How very public spirited ... though that’s never really your motivation, is it?” the man said rather pleasantly. Sherlock huffed.  
“What are you doing here?” she asked.  
!As ever, I’m concerned about you.” the man said.  
“Yes, I’ve been hearing about your ‘concern’.” she said, glancing at me. I just watched them in confusion.  
“Always so aggressive. Did it never occur to you that you and I belong on the same side?” the man asked, he sounded tired.  
“Oddly enough, no!” she replies.   
“We have more in common than you like to believe. This petty feud between us is simply childish. People will suffer ... and you know how it always upset Mummy.” the man said. I frowned as I was unsure what I had just heard.   
“I upset her? Me?” Sherlock scoffed.The man glowers at her. “It wasn’t me that upset her, Mycroft.”  
“No, no, wait. Mummy? Who’s Mummy?” I asked, interrupting them both.  
“ Mother – our mother. This is my brother, Mycroft.” she replied hastily. I stared at her and Mycroft in amazement. Sherlock turns back to Mycroft.  
“Putting on weight again?” she observed. I frowned at her comment.  
“Losing it, in fact.” Mycroft replied. I walked in front of Sherlock.  
“He’s your brother?!” I asked, feeling quite shocked at the news. It makes sense thinking about it now.   
“Of course he’s my brother.” she scoffed. I nodded.   
“So he’s not …” I trailed off looking at both of them.  
“Not what?” Sherlock asks, getting frustrated.  
The two siblings looked at me as I shrugged in embarrassment. I blushed slightly.   
“I dunno – criminal mastermind?” I asked. I grimaced at having even suggested it. Sherlock looks at her brother Mycroft disparagingly.  
“Close enough.” she said.  
“For goodness’ sake. I occupy a minor position in the British government.” Mycroft said. Sherlock rolled her eyes and scoffed.  
“He is the British government, when he’s not too busy being the British Secret Service or the CIA on a freelance basis.” she said slowly. Mycroft sighed. “Good evening, Mycroft. Try not to start a war before I get home. You know what it does for the traffic.” She walked away. I started to follow her but I then decided to turn back to Mycroft, who had turned to watch his sister.  
“So, when-when you say you’re concerned about her, you actually are concerned?” I asked.  
“Yes, of course.” Mycroft replied. I could tell he did care for her, he just struggled to show it like a normal human being.  
“I mean, it actually is a childish feud?” I asked, making sure.  
“She’s always been so resentful. You can imagine the Christmas dinners.” Mycroft commented. I wondered why Sherlock was resentful. There had to be a reason for it.  
“Yeah ... no. God, no!” I said, frowning. I half turned to follow Sherlock who had stopped to look at me as I talked to her brother.   
“I-I’d better, um …Hello again.” I said as I turned to see Not-anthea on her phone. She smiled brightly up at me.   
“Hello” she said, with a smile.  
“Yes, we-we met earlier this evening.” I said. She looked at me as if she had never seen me before but was trying to pretend. Rather badly in fact that she did.  
“Oh” she replied and I rolled my eyes.  
“Okay, good night.” I said. I glanced at Mycroft before turning to catch up to Sherlock who had begun walking down the street.  
“Good night, Doctor Watson.” Mycroft said. I finally caught up with Sherlock. I smiled at her as we walked side by side down the street.  
“So: dim sum.” I suggested.  
“Mmm! I can always predict the fortune cookies.” she said. I rolled my eyes.  
“No you can’t.” I said seeing through her lies. Sherlock smiled slightly.  
“Almost can. You did get shot, though.” she said.  
“Sorry?” I asked as I didn’t quite hear her over the noisy London traffic.  
“In Afghanistan. There was an actual wound.” she said  
“Oh, yeah. Shoulder.” I said, shrugging.  
“Shoulder! I thought so.” she said. I just laughed.  
“No you didn’t.” I responded which again made her smile.  
“The left one.” she said, sounding like she knew she was right.  
“Lucky guess.” I said with a smile.  
“I never guess.” she said.  
“Yes you do.” I said, laughing. I looked across at Sherlock who was smiling. “What are you so happy about?” I asked her.  
“Moriarty.” she said, bluntly.  
“What’s Moriarty?” I asked. I have never heard of it before.   
“I’ve absolutely no idea.” she said cheerfully. I rolled my eyes. We walked the rest of the way to the Chinese in silence. I looked at my surroundings. The London streets were busy. I never liked it busy but now I seem to enjoy it. I looked at Sherlock who was untying her hair as she walked. Her long black wavy hair fell down past her shoulders. Her hair seemed to reflect the light of the moon. Her skin seemed to do so as well. She was so pale. She looks like a ghost. She looked at me and I looked away. I could feel her smirk before looking in front of her.   
We approached Baker street and she led me into a chinese takeaway. I could smell it from outside the door. I could feel my stomach rumble. Probably after all the excitement of tonight’s events it made me hungry. We walked together to the till.   
“I would like Dim sum please. What about you Sherlock?” I asked, looking at her.   
“Oh, I am not hungry.” she said with a smile. I frowned but left it. It wasn’t my place to comment on it. The woman walked away into the back. She came out and looked at me.   
“That will be £4.50” she said, holding out her hand. I rummaged through my pockets and pulled out a five pound note. I just told her to keep the change which made her smile. We both waited in silence.   
“So when can I move in?” I asked. She looked at me.   
“Whenever you want.” she replied, looking down at her phone.   
“I was thinking about tomorrow. I mean, I don’t want to delay it.” I said rather awkwardly.   
“Yeah, that is fine. I will help you move your stuff if you wish.” she replied, not looking up from her phone. I nodded just as the woman came out with the Dim Sum. “Are you wanting to stay at 221B tonight?” Sherlock asked. I nodded. She smiled.   
We arrived at the flat, it was warm. Sherlock turned to me and pressed her finger to her lips. I looked at Mrs Hudson’s door, lights were off suggesting that she was asleep. We walked up the stairs in silence. Once we entered the living room, I sighed and put the bag down on the small coffee table.


	6. The Settling In.

Sherlock sat in her armchair. She seems to prefer the blue navy one to the red. I sat on the long sofa as I opened my Dim Sum. Sherlock was staring into space as I opened my late dinner. I was about to eat when Sherlock abruptly stood up and walked out of the room and walked into her room that was down the hall from the kitchen and shutting the door. I sat there slightly confused. I shrugged it off and continued to eat. Sherlock was right, It was a fantastic chinese. I will have to get the number. I went into the kitchen to dispose of the rubbish in the bin. It was a mess. More than what I had seen earlier today. I walked out of the kitchen and back into the living room. I lay on the sofa not realizing I would drift asleep.   
I woke up to violin music. I opened my eyes and yawned. I looked over at the clock. It was 5am in the morning. I yawned which seemed to catch Sherlock off guard.   
“Sorry, John. I was playing as quietly as I could.” she said, stopping but continuing again. I looked at her, she was wearing the exact same clothes as last night. She looked like she had not slept. I could see dark bags under her eyes.   
“Have you not slept?” I asked, as I sat up. She stopped playing and put her violin back in it’s case.   
“Not yet.” she replied, looking at me.   
“Have you eaten anything?” I asked but she only shook her head. I frowned slightly.   
“Go to bed, Sherlock. Get some rest. You deserve it.” I said, warmly. She looked at me before leaving into her room quickly. I smiled at myself.   
Sherlock did not wake until noon that day. I decided to stay until she woke up so we could go to my flat together. She walked out of her room, she had obviously got dressed and showered.There was a bathroom that was joined into her room. She was holding a pile of clothes that looked like men’s clothes. She placed them on the coffee table in front of me.   
“Here are some clothes you could wear since you don't have any clean ones.” she said before walking away. I picked them up and walked into the bathroom to get dressed. Where did she get these clothes from? Did she have a boyfriend? I shrugged it off and put it on. It was a shirt and a pair of jeans. They fit me perfectly. Of course they did, Sherlock would not have given me them which creeped me out slightly but I waved it off. I walked back into the living room to see Sherlock on her laptop.   
“Thank you for the clothes but where did you get them from?” I asked, sitting down in the red armchair. She looked at me and turned back to her laptop.  
“My ex-boyfriend. He left it at our old flat. I accidentally brought it with me here.” she replied, coldly. I felt slightly uncomfortable.   
“Can we go now? I don’t want to be in your ex’s clothes.” I asked, nervously. Sherlock closed her laptop and grabbed her coat. She seemed agitated today. I wondered why but I hadn’t the right to ask.   
We left 221B and got into a taxi in silence. The drive was tense. She was looking out of the window in silence. She drummed her fingers on her trousers. I sighed and looked out of the window watching the pedestrians shopping and chatting. I looked at London differently now, it wasn’t as boring as I once thought.   
The taxi came to a stop outside the hostel which I used to reside at. We walked up to it. I looked at Sherlock. She didn’t look like she was judging me. We walked into my ‘flat’, it was messy. Boxers and dirty clothes were lying all over the floor. I looked down in embarrassment.   
“I am sorry about the mess.” I said, I looked over to see her looking at my small desk.   
“It is fine. Where do you want to start?” she asked, looking through the opened mail, there were just bills I had not paid. I looked around the room. I walked up to my bed and pulled out a small suitcase that was put underneath the bed frame.   
“I will just pack this suitcase and we will head off.” I said. I realized that she did not need to be here to help me. I could have done it myself. She nodded. She turned around and looked around the room, she picked up a plastic bag and started putting my dirty laundry in it. “You don’t need to do that.” I said, slightly embarrassed.   
“It is fine, I was thinking that after we should go into Boots to get you new toothbrushes and shampoo. I will pay. You don’t have enough money as I saw from your unpaid bills.” she said, not looking at me. I sighed.   
“I would appreciate it. I will pay you back” I replied. She just waved me off. As I packed the suitcase with all the clean clothes I had. “Why are you named Sherlock? It isn’t a boy’s name.” I asked.   
“Sherlock is my middle name. My real name is Willow. I hated the name so I call myself Sherlock and I would like to keep it that way” she said sternly. It made sense. Willow isn’t an intimidating name and Sherlock had a character to play when she was around others. I saw through her act last night. I concluded that she is most certainly not a sociopath. Just someone who is scared to be herself. I also theorized that she most likely had asperger syndrome, it would explain the level of high intelligence she had. I sighed as I continued to pack. The rest of it was in silence and I didn’t mind. I didn’t feel much like talking either.   
We ended up back at 221B and in my new room unpacking. Sherlock was downstairs as I packed which left me time to think. I knew the doctor in me is concerned about her health since she doesn’t seem to eat. She didn’t eat at Angelo’s or at the chinese. I couldn’t ask her about it as we are not friends yet. Still acquaintances. I finished packing, it wasn’t a big job, it wasn’t like I had a lot.  
I walked down the stairs and went into the kitchen to put my laundry in the washing machine but it was already done. I smiled and walked into the living room to see Sherlock was on her laptop.   
“Anything interesting?” I asked once I noticed she was on her blog. She continued to write.   
“Nope, people seem to have a lot of lost dogs.” she replied sounding frustrated. Her blog was a way for “normal” people to contact Sherlock for help. Most of the time they were useless cases according to her, I smiled and sat down on my armchair.   
20 minutes past and she was still on her laptop. I sat daydreaming and remembering the Afghanistan war. I shivered which made Sherlock look at me. She looked me over before standing.   
“Do you want to go to Boots now?” she asked, looking at me. I nodded.   
Boots was busy. It was filled to the brim of people. I looked at Sherlock who seemed to not show any emotion but she was fidgeting with her hands.   
“We will be out soon.” I said trying to comfort her from her anxiety. She nodded at me. I finally found the toothbrushes and the shampoo. I grabbed her gloved hand and pulled her towards the tills. She let go immediately once we reached them. I smiled at her but she only glared at the other people that were around us. She quickly paid and walked out of the shop. I followed behind her with a plastic bag in hand. “Are you alright?” I asked her once I was out of the shop.   
“I am fine.” she said blankly. I looked at her suspiciously. She was not fine. I seemed to be able to tell.   
“Hungry?” I asked.   
“Not really,” she said bluntly. I sighed.   
“You have to eat Sherlock, you haven’t eaten all day and it is now 4pm.” I said, looking at her. She looked at me coldly. She began walking in the direction of Angelo’s that was just down the street from where we were. She walked in and sat down. I sat across from her. There seemed to be no sign of Angelo which made me relax a bit more. I looked at the menu but she didn’t. I sighed and pushed a menu towards her. She huffed and opened it. I looked at all the options.   
“What about a salad? Since you are not hungry” I suggested, she put the menu down and did not answer. The waiter came over with a fake smile. “I will have the risotto and Sherlock will have the salad.” I said, I decided to order it for her. She doesn’t seem to be up to talking. We sat in silence as we waited for our food. Sherlock was looking out of the window.   
“Stop staring at me John.” she said, not looking at me. I looked down at the table.   
“Sorry” I apologised. She just sighed. The food arrived and I began eating. I tried not to look at her. I looked at the salad, it was untouched. I sighed. I began to think this isn’t just a today thing. Looking at her over the past two days, she was quite thin. Too thin. I continued to eat. “Have some even if you have 5 bits of it. I will stop annoying you.” I said in an attempt to persuade her to eat something. She rolled her eyes and picked up her fork. I didn’t look at her whilst she ate in case she felt uncomfortable. After a few minutes, she put her fork down and I glanced at her plate. There seemed to be less lettuce on it but she didn’t eat much. I didn’t push any further. I finished my risotto and raised my hand, I pulled out my wallet and took out my bank card. Sherlock sighed and pushed my card away and pulled out her own.   
“You can’t afford it.” she said. I sighed in annoyance.   
We left Angelo’s and walked down the street to our flat at Baker Street. Our flat. I smiled. I am not alone anymore. I could see the sun begin to set and I smiled again. For the first time in a while, I was happy to be here.


	7. The Meeting Between the Blogger and The Older Holmes.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW// MENTIONS OF SUICIDE AND EATING DISORDERS.

Living with Sherlock isn’t easy to live with. She was right when she said she doesn’t talk for days on end all those weeks ago when we first met at St Bart’s. But she seems to get really agitated when she doesn’t have a case. She would shoot at the wall, never when I am at the flat but I noticed it due to the holes in the wall that now had a spray painted smiley face on it. I hated it but never complained. What was the point? I would never win in an argument against her. I tried. I laughed at the memory of me finding a hand in the fridge which caused me to lose my temper. I rolled my eyes at myself. I knew what I was getting myself into when I moved in. What worried me most was that she ate very little. She seemed to only drink coffee and a slice of toast a day if it was a good day.   
I texted Mycroft, he had given me his number the last time I saw him which was only a week ago, he seemed to be at the same cafe I went to on the other side of London. I decided to shrug it off and put it as a coincidence.   
‘Hello, It is John Watson, I would like to meet up with you for Coffee and Speedy’s. I need to ask you something. - JW.’ I signed the text with my initials just like Sherlock did. I decided it was pretty useful in case Mycroft did not have my number on his phone.   
‘Hello, Dr Watson. I am available right now. Meet there in 20 minutes. - MH.’   
I put my phone in my jean pocket as Sherlock walked in. She was wearing her pyjamas. She seemed not to have gotten changed in days which again worried me. She gave me a strange look but then smirked.   
“What are you up to, today Sherlock?” I asked, passing the time.   
“Nothing, probably composing…” she said, picking up her violin. I smiled. I had gotten used to the violin and found a love for listening to it. I had begun recording her playing on my voice recorder so I could listen to it when I was out of the flat. It seemed to help me relax. I swayed to the music as she played. She finished a piece and I clapped.   
“That was good.” I complimented which seemed to make her tense. She put her violin down.   
“Thanks…” she trailed off quietly. I frowned slightly. I checked the time.   
“I am going to get a coffee, do you want anything while I am out?” I asked.   
“No thank you.” she replied. I nodded and left the flat. I walked into the small cafe and immediately spotted Mycroft sitting in one of the booths. His umbrella leaned against the table. I walked towards him and held my hand out. He took it and gestured for me to sit.   
“Ah, John. Lovely to see you.” he said awkwardly. I guessed he was trying to be nice to me.   
“Hello, Mr Holmes.” I said in return. He nodded as two coffee’s were placed in front of us.   
“You wanted to ask me something?” Mycroft asked, beginning to get impatient.   
“Yes, I was wondering why Sherlock doesn’t eat.” I said, sipping at my coffee. Mycroft sighed.   
“She was always a fussy eater when growing up. Mummy always tried to introduce new foods. Never worked. She did eat more back then but now I have also noticed it. I wondered if it was because of her ex….” Mycroft trailed off. He looked like he said too much.   
“I won’t mention anything to Sherlock.” I said, quietly. He looked at me for a minute before sighing once more.   
“Her relationship with this man was her first ever relationship. She met him at University. At the beginning their relationship was beautiful. He would take her on these dates. I was rather jealous. Don’t tell her that… But it went wrong near the end of the Uni course. At that point they had moved in with each other. I noticed that he cheated on her multiple times of course at that point me and Sherlock were rather close…” he trailed off again remembering his past with his younger sister. I smiled sadly. “I notified her of his adultery should we say but she didn’t want to hear it. I noticed that she had… it doesn’t matter but ever since they broke up, Sherlock went onto drugs. It was a dark time John. She attempted suicide 9 times in the one month.” Mycroft shivered and I went pale. I felt sick. “I tried to help of course. But when someone is on drugs such as Heroin and Cocaine. It is difficult to help them as they are in denial. Sherlock was in denial at what happened to her and wanted to stop the pain. Finally after a few years of watching her she seemed to get back to being a normal as she could be. Yes she is more colder now than she was but I didn’t care as long as she was off drugs.” He finished. Mycroft took a gulp of coffee. I sat there in shock. “It is a lot isn’t it.”   
“Yes, it is. So the reason she doesn’t eat is because of her ex from all those years ago?” I asked, I was slightly confused.   
“This is just a theory John but I believe that her boyfriend forced her not to eat, I knew that he said that she was the fattest thing he had ever seen. Being an idiot at the time, I didn’t think much of it…” Mycroft said, he looked guilty.   
“Eating disorder?” I asked.   
“Possibly but let us not assume. Now, John. You must keep this conversation private. Sherlock will kill me and even you if she finds out. Good day.” Mycroft said, leaving quickly. I sat there and finished my coffee. I looked at my surroundings before standing up and leaving. I walked back into the flat to see Sherlock, looking out of the window.   
“How was Mycroft?” she asked, coldly. I gulped.   
“He is fine, I just needed to ask him something.” I said, walking into the kitchen and taking out the now clean laundry. Sherlock walked towards me.   
“Ask him what?” she asked. I sighed as I put the clothes into a washing basket.   
“I am struggling to find a job so I asked him for help.” I lied. I picked up the basket and placed it on the living room floor. I went into a cupboard which was near Sherlock’s room and pulled out a horse rack. I carried it into the room and started hanging up the washing. Sherlock sat in his chair and stared at me. “What is it?” I asked.   
“Liar,” she said, coldly.   
“What?” I exasperatedly asked exasperated. She just smirked at me.   
“Liar.” she repeated.   
“How am I a liar?” I asked, looking at her.   
“Did he tell you about my entire history?” she asked but it sounded more like an accusation.   
“In fact no, he did not. And I wouldn’t want him to.” I said sternly. I continued to hang up the shirts.   
“Hmmm. That is surprising. Tell me the truth.” she said. I sighed.   
“I asked him why you don’t eat at all. He said he doesn’t know.” I replied, it wasn’t a whole lie.   
“He is a liar but let’s leave it. Food slows me down when I am working.” She replied.   
“But you are not working…” I said. Sherlock looked at me and smirked a little.   
“I am just not hungry John. Leave it please.” She said, getting fed up. I nodded. If Sherlock doesn’t want to tell me the truth, I will stop asking. It was probably for the best but what worried me was the fact she attempted suicide 9 times in the same month. Why?   
My phone pinged, I pulled it out, It was Mycroft.   
‘I should probably tell you that a week before you arrived, she tried to kill herself by jumping off the top of St Bart’s. Delete this message.’   
Why would he text me that! I deleted the message. Sherlock was still suicidal and I never knew. I shivered.   
“Sherlock, get dressed.” I said which made her frown. “We are going for a walk.” I said, I had a plan and I think it was a bloody good one.


	8. The Talk.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW// MENTIONS OF SUICIDE . SELF HARM.

I led her towards the park that was on the other side of London. She questioned me as to why we were here. I didn’t tell her. I haven’t set foot in this park since it happened. I stood at the gate for a moment, feeling anxious rather suddenly. Sherlock looked at me in concern. I gave her a small smile. I continued to walk and she followed behind. We approached the bridge that went across a moving river. I stopped in the middle of the large bridge. Sherlock stood beside me and leaned over the side of the bride to look down. I grabbed her arm in panic. She immediately straightened up.   
“Why are we here?” she asked me, standing away from the side of the bridge.   
“I will tell you in a minute, just let me do something.” I said, walking towards the side. I climbed up and stood on the edge.   
“John. What are you doing?!” Sherlock said rather loudly. I felt arms holding my legs so I didn’t fall. I smiled slightly.   
“I am fine, Sherlock. I promise. I won’t jump. I don’t feel like that anymore.” I replied. I was suddenly pulled down to the ground. I wasn’t angry that Sherlock did that.   
“Why did you do that?” she asked, I sat on the ground and she sat down beside me as well.   
“I wanted to prove to myself that I won’t try to hurt myself again.” I replied, truthfully.   
“What do you mean?” she asked, looking at me. For the first time I saw her eyes tearing up.   
“When I returned from the Afghanistan war, I hated myself. For getting shot. For being injured. And for being me I guess. I was in a dark space. I decided the night before my birthday, to kill myself so I came here, at midnight…” I trailed off remembering everything that happened that night almost a year ago now.   
“What stopped you?” she asked. I didn’t look at her but I smiled.   
“I don’t know. I was standing up there” I pointed up to the exact place I was standing. “I remember thinking about my family. My sister Harry. I guess I decided to stay alive for them. I am glad, I didn’t kill myself Sherlock.” I replied honestly. I am happy to be here, happy to be at this place even with someone I hadn’t known for a long time. I trusted her. I still didn’t know why.   
“Thank you for telling me John.” Sherlock said, I looked up at her to see her smiling gently at me.   
“I am glad I did.” I replied truthfully. She smiled at me and stood up, she held out her hand and helped me up.   
“Why did you tell me?” she asked, as we walked towards the exit of the park.   
“I thought you had the right to know” I said and truly she did have the right to know considering I lived with her. She looked down, she looked like she was in deep thought.   
“You don’t have to tell me anything Sherlock.” I added. She nodded and we continued to walk back in silence. It felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Sherlock was the only person I have told apart from the therapist.   
We arrived at the flat around 5pm, just as the sun was beginning to set. The amber light casted pretty shadows on the ground. It was quite beautiful. I walked into the living room and sat down on my chair. I sighed. It was nice to get out of the cold air and into a warm one. Sherlock sat across from me and looked like she was texting. I wonder who she is always texting not like I care.   
“What are you wanting for dinner?” she asked which caught me by surprise.   
“Anything you want.” I replied, hoping that she wanted to eat more than a few bites of food.   
“Chinese?” she suggested and I nodded. Sherlock put on her coat once more.   
“Are you wanting me to come with you?” I asked and she shook her head. She left shortly after and I sat there smiling. I wandered around the living room looking at various pieces of paper lying on the desk. My phone went.   
‘Please go into Sherlock’s room and check the bin. I have a fear that she is hiding something -MH’   
I frowned. I shouldn’t go into her room. I groaned and walked towards it. As I opened the door I was hit by a waft of perfume and cigarettes. Sherlock was smoking in here. Must be during the night, I was asleep. I looked around the room. There was a double bed that took up the majority of it but there was also a desk that held all of her books and some random things she must have picked up during cases. The room had this green wallpaper which I am trying to like. I looked for the bin. It was sitting beside the bed. I kneeled down to rummage through it. It was filled with pieces of paper that had scribbles written on them. I suddenly felt a sharp edge touch my hand. I gulped. I knew what it was. I saw them a lot when I was doing work experience at a local GP years ago. I pulled it out. It was a small blade. It was the blade you would find in a razor. I sighed sadly. I could see specks of blood still on the blade. It looked recent, as it hadn’t turned brown yet. “Oh, Sherlock…” I whispered to myself. I heard the front door slam, I quickly put the blade in the bin and walked out into the living room. I sat down and pulled out my phone. Sherlock walked in and smiled at me. I did so in return. She placed the bag on the small coffee table.   
‘Blade in bin -JW’   
I quickly sent the text to Mycroft before walking towards the bag. She had gotten me my favourite. Dim Sum. She opened a box that was filled with chips and gravy. Not exactly chinese but I won’t comment as that was the biggest thing I have seen her have. She began to eat and so did I. I tried not to watch Sherlock eat as I knew from training it might make someone who struggles to eat stop. I couldn’t help but wonder why she cut herself and where? What if she cut too deep. I suddenly lost my appetite. I pulled out my phone to see a message from Mycroft.   
‘I thought as much. I noticed a small scar on her wrist a few weeks ago. - MH’   
I sighed, he wasn’t exactly a big help. Sherlock looked at me in confusion. I just smiled and placed the barely eaten Dim sum on the table.   
“Not hungry tonight.” I said, going back to my armchair. She just nodded and continued to eat. She was halfway done.   
‘What do I do? - JW’ I quickly texted him. Sherlock closed his tub and placed it on the table as well. She walked to her armchair and sat down. Her hands went up into a prayer position. Apparently she goes into a mind palace whatever that was. I checked my phone again.   
‘Take the blade out of the bin, she will use it again. Then ask her about it. She will react badly but she should not be doing this again. MH’   
I looked over at Sherlock who hadn’t moved and stood up. I walked as quietly as I could and went into her room. I quickly walked around the bin and pulled out the blade and put it in my back pocket. I sighed and walked out of her room, shutting the door behind me. I turned around to see Sherlock standing close to me.   
“What were you doing in my room?” she asked.   
“Sit down for me.” I said, gesturing to the sofa. She reluctantly sat down and I sat beside her. “Show me.” I said. She looked confused. I knew that she knew what I was talking about. “The scars.” I said, as gently as I could. “I am a doctor. Let me help you.”   
“Whatever my brother is saying to you. He is lying.” she responded in defense. I could see the tension in her shoulders. I pulled out the blade from my back pocket. I held it up but she turned her head so she didn’t see it.   
“I don’t think he is lying to you, Sherlock. There is blood. Recent. As it hasn’t turned that brown colour yet.” I said.   
“Great deduction.” she said sarcastically. I rolled my eyes and placed the blade on the small table. She sighed and put her head in her hands. She rolled up her sleeves and held them out for me. I took her arm gently and looked. I wanted to cry but I kept my composure. Almost every part of her skin on her right arm was scarred. I see why she puts those nicotine patches on her left arm. Those don’t have scars. I didn’t see any that were either infected or where she cut too deep. That was good.   
“You don’t seem to have cut too deep or have infections but Sherlock, this has to stop.” I said trying not to show her any emotion I am feeling which is sadness and a bit of guilt of not noticing it sooner.   
“You can’t tell me what to do.” she replied, coldly.  
“I know I can’t but if you want to live a happier life then it does need to stop” I said, and it is true.  
“Are you done?” she asked, getting angry. I just nodded. I grabbed the blade quickly in case she picked it up. She smirked and went into her room and slammed her door. I just rolled my eyes.  
‘That didn’t go well. JW.” I texted Mycroft as I stood up and walked to look out of the window. I hope that Sherlock gets a case soon.


	9. The Blind Banker.

I sat with my laptop open, I began typing my new blog post. I decided a few days ago to start it up again but this time writing about the cases I solve with Sherlock. Much to Sherlock’s displeasure of me doing it. Sherlock throughout the new case was very cold to me. I knew why but I certainly didn’t like it.  
‘It all began with Sherlock and I visiting the bank. We'd been called in by an old school friend of hers. The man was a banker and pretty much what you'd expect. Someone had broken into their offices and sprayed graffiti across a painting. Nothing too interesting about that, you might think. Except that whoever did it, they didn't show up on any CCTV. The bank's offices were like Fort Knox but there was nothing. No sign of who'd done it.  
Sherlock worked out that we needed to speak to one of the bankers, *insert name*. So we went to his flat but he was already dead. It looked like suicide but of course it wasn't. The graffiti at the bank had been a warning. A death threat. The police still thought it was suicide and I have to admit... well, it was a locked room. A dead man. Gun in his hand. It did look like suicide.  
But Sherlock, of course, had noticed from every little thing in the flat that *insert name* was left-handed and that the gun was in his right hand. She said she was 'amazed' that we hadn't noticed. Sad thing is, she genuinely was. That sort of thing comes so easy for her.  
Then, almost as if to confirm that what Sherlock was saying was true, there was another murder. A journalist. He was also in a locked room. He'd also presumably thought he was safe from whoever it was that killed him. We needed to find out whatever it was that connected the two men. Sherlock worked out that the graffiti was like an ancient secret code. So we went to meet a 'friend' of hers. I think the correct term is 'delinquent'. I called him much worse.  
To cut a long story short, I found myself at the police station, reading *Insert name* diary. And that led me and Sherlock to a Chinese emporium on Shaftesbury Ave. It was a shop full of tat basically but we got what we wanted...the graffiti tags were numbers. Old Chinese numbers. Sherlock then noticed that nobody had been in the flat above the shop for a few days... but that the window was open. So, of course, she had to break in and leave me standing outside while she explored. It turned out the flat belonged to a woman who worked in a museum. By now, I have to admit, I was pretty confused. All these people and places that seemed to be linked randomly. Our visit to the bank seemed like a lifetime away.  
The woman at the museum, Soo Lin, was really quite brilliant. She was hiding in the museum, fearing for her life. She was hiding there, though, so she could continue looking after some old Chinese teapots. It was both absurd but also strangely beautiful. I think even Sherlock was impressed by her. She told us about a huge smuggling operation and of an assassin sent to kill those who betrayed the organisation. Which is what had happened to the banker and the journalist.  
And which is then what happened to her.  
So we worked out that the smuggling ring was trading in Chinese antiquities. Both the banker and the journalist were able to bring them to the UK because they travelled a lot and the gang had contacted the woman because she was an expert in such things. We found out where they were selling what they'd stolen but we still needed to work out what the code meant. We realised that the numbers were references to books. Each bit of the code indicated a certain page in a certain book. The problem was working out which book. It needed to be something that anyone would have.  
And, meanwhile, I went on a date. I'd met someone. She's called Sarah and she's great. Sherlock gave me tickets for the circus so I could take her. Only, of course, she invited himself along as well. Mine and Sarah's first date and I've got the madwoman detective there. I kind of figured that it wasn't going to go well. And sure enough, one minute Sherlock was standing next to us, the next she was on the stage fighting with a mad warlord assassin. Luckily, Sarah didn't seem to mind helping me to help her. We saved her life and then returned to the flat. And Sherlock was, of course, her usual rude and arrogant self, ignoring Sarah. Until she pointed out that Soo Lin had already translated part of the code. Sherlock rushed out to do God knows what, leaving me and Sarah to be kidnapped. The date really hadn't gone well.  
We found ourselves being held at gunpoint by an opera singer and her assassins. My main concern was Sarah, of course. She hadn't agreed to this. She hadn't agreed to any of this. And, of course, the biggest irony was that they didn't even want me. They'd mistaken me for Sherlock. They were going to kill Sarah because they thought I was Sherlock Holmes! Even though she was a female! I am quite obviously a male!  
Sherlock found us and we managed to escape and shut down the operation. It turned out that they'd been looking for a hairpin. All this madness and death was because of a hairpin! An Empress's hairpin apparently but still, a hairpin. Sherlock even knew where it was...she'd seen it before. And that was it. Case closed. Over a couple days we'd encountered Chinese assassins, killer opera singers, secret codes, secret messages in the A-Z, smugglers and god knows what else. I'd even met a beautiful lady. It was all very James Bond.  
I can't deny that I prefer this kind of life. Being a civilian doesn't suit me. But the thing is, this life we've chosen isn't safe. Sherlock chooses to be this crusading consulting detective and I choose to be her colleague. But she's becoming known. People know of her. It's like that taxi driver said about how Moriarty knew about her. Then the opera singer, she knew all about her. How long before someone else comes after her? And what happens to the people like Sarah or Mrs Hudson when that happens?  
All these people she involves in her adventures... They're not safe. We're not safe. There are forces out there and they're coming for Sherlock Holmes.’  
I finally finished writing the case and quickly uploaded it and shut my computer down. And placed it beside the armchair. I looked up to see Sherlock on her laptop. She was on my blog reading my recent post. I knew what was coming. The sarcastic comments, the scoffing. I just sat in my armchair not moving. Just waiting for the judgement.   
After a few minutes, Sherlock shut her computer and went into the kitchen without a comment which confused me.   
“What did you think of it?” I asked from the armchair.  
“Awful but I won’t comment any further on it.” she replied rather bluntly. I stood up and walked into the kitchen. She was looking at her microscope.   
“Why was it awful?” I asked, folding my arms.   
“Why did you have to include Sarah in it?” Sherlock asked, not looking up at me.   
“Because she was there when it happened. She is a part of the case.” I replied, quite defensively. Sherlock scoffed   
“Whatever.” she replied coldly.   
“Why do you not like her?” I asked, getting annoyed.   
“Why do you like her? We all have questions John,” Sherlock said finally looking up towards me. Her blue eyes looked right into my soul. Well it felt like that anyway. I slumped slightly.   
“I am working tomorrow so I will not be here in the morning. Try not to blow the house up.” I said as I walked away. Sometimes I wonder why I put up with her.


	10. The Beginning of the Game.

Bang, Bang, Bang. I covered my ears as I approached the door. I looked over to see Sherlock holding a gun in her hand.   
“What the hell are you doing?!” I yelled over the gunshots.   
“Bored!” she replied.   
“What?” I asked.   
“Bored!” she said as she shot her gun at the wall. “Bored!” she shot at it again. “I don’t know what is going on with the criminal classes. Good thing I am not one of them.” she said dropping the gun onto the floor. I walked over to it and took out the bullets. Sherlock walked over to the wall.   
“So you take it out on the wall.” I said looking at her.   
“The wall had it coming.” she replied. She turns sideways and dramatically flops down onto the sofa on her back. Her head landing on a cushion at one end and her feet digging into the arm of the sofa at the end of the sofa. I took off my jacket.  
“What about that Russian case?” I asked her. She pushes her feet to shove herself further along the sofa and into a slightly upright position and then starts kneading the arm of the sofa with her toes. I rolled my eyes at the dramatics.   
“Belarus. Open and shut domestic murder. Not worth my time.” she replied.  
“Ah, shame!” I replied sarcastically. I walked into the kitchen and threw my hands in despair as I looked at the mess on the table which greeted me. One day Sherlock will clean after herself. I head towards the fridge.  
“Anything in? I’m starving.” I ask as I open the fridge door. “Oh, f…” I gagged. I shut the fridge unable to believe what I just saw inside. I slumped against the door for a moment with my head lowered. What is she doing? I straightened up and opened the fridge once more. On the shelf inside there is a man’s head, cut off at the neck, the face looking towards me. I stared at it for a few moments and quietly shut the door. I shivered.   
“It’s a head.” I called out. “A severed head!” I shouted out.   
“Just tea for me, thanks.” she replied. I walked back into the living room.  
“No, there’s a head in the fridge.” I said.  
“Yes.” she said calmly.  
“A bloody head!” I shouted.  
“Well, where else was I supposed to put it?” she said sulkily. “You don’t mind, do you?”   
I held my hand out towards the fridge.   
“I got it from Bart’s morgue” she continued, I buried my head into my hand. What was she thinking of? “I’m measuring the coagulation of saliva after death.” she waved her hand vaguely in the direction of a nearby laptop. “I see you’ve written up the taxi driver case.”  
“Uh, yes.” I replied, taking one last look at the fridge before walking over to Sherlock’s armchair and sat down.  
“A Study in Pink. Nice!” she said, sounding sarcastic but I decided to ignore it.  
“Well, you know, pink lady, pink case, pink phone – there was a lot of pink. Did you like it?” I asked. Sherlock picked up a magazine off the coffee table and started to look through it.  
“Erm, no.” she replied on the page of the magazine.  
“Why not? I thought you’d be flattered.” I said, I thought that she would have been okay with it.  
“Flattered?” she scoffs as she raised her index fingers to the laptop once more whilst glaring at me. “Sherlock sees through everything and everyone in seconds. What’s incredible, though, is how spectacularly ignorant she is about some things.”  
“Now hang on a minute. I didn’t mean that in a …” I began to say.  
“Oh, you meant “spectacularly ignorant” in a nice way! Look, it doesn’t matter to me who's the Prime Minister …” she interrupted me. I sighed.  
“I know …” I said quietly.  
“... or who’s sleeping with who... or whether Mr Grammar Policeman knows that he ought to have said ‘who’s sleeping with whom’ …” she finished.  
“Whether the Earth goes round the Sun …” I said.  
“Not that again. It’s not important!” she said, loudly.  
“Not impor…” I trailed off, I shifted my position in the chair to face Sherlock. “It’s primary school stuff. How can you not know that?” I asked.  
“Well, if I ever did, I’ve deleted it.” she replied.   
“Deleted it?” I asked. Sherlock swung her legs around to the floor and sat up to face me. She points to her head with one finger.   
“This is my hard drive, and it only makes sense to put things in there that are useful ... really useful.” she grimaced. “Ordinary people fill their heads with all kinds of rubbish, and that makes it hard to get at the stuff that matters. Do you see?” she asked, she sounded frustrated. I look at her for a moment trying to keep my mouth shut.   
“But it’s the solar system!” I said loudly. Sherlock briefly buried her head in her hands.   
“Oh, hell! What does that matter?!” she looked at me in frustration. “So we go round the Sun! If we went round the Moon, or round and round the garden like a teddy bear... it wouldn’t make any difference. All that matters to me is the work. Without that, my brain rots.” she said, ruffling her long hair with both hands and then glared at me. “Put that in your blog. Or better still, stop inflicting your opinions on the world.” she finished. She shoved the magazine across the coffee table and lay down on the sofa again, turning her back to me and pulling her dressing gown around her while curling up into a ball. I pursed my lips and walked towards the living room door.   
“Where are you going?”she asked, looking over her shoulder.  
“Out. I need some air.” I replied. I bumped into Mrs Hudson before leaving the flat. Sarah’s that was the closest. Surely I could stay over the one night.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Sitting up on the sofa with my shirt unbuttoned, I decided to sleep on the sofa and I am grimacing and trying to un-crack my neck as I have slept on this couch for the night. Sarah walked in, wearing a dressing gown.  
“Morning!” she said, with a beaming smile.  
“Oh,Morning.” I said in pain, my neck was giving me hassle.  
“See? Told you you should’ve gone with the lilo.” she replied. Or I could have slept beside my girlfriend but I decided to not say that.  
“No, no, no, it’s fine. I-I slept fine. It’s very kind of you.” I said holding my neck and yawning. Sarah scanned the sofa as I spoke and picked up the remote control for the television. She sat on the arm of the sofa and turned it on to the news.  
“Well, maybe next time I’ll let you kip at the end of my bed, you know.” she said, looking at me suggestively and then turned her head towards the TV screen.  
“What about the time after that?” I asked. She looked at me and grinned briefly. I turned towards her but didn’t look into her eyes.  
“So, d’you want some breakfast?” she asked, putting the remote down.   
“Love some.” I replied with a smile.  
“Yeah, well you’d better make it yourself, ’cause I’m gonna have a shower!” she said smiling at me before leaving the room. I chuck;ed silently and started to button my shirt  
“This one is anticipated to do even better. Back now to our main story. There’s been a massive explosion in central London.” the newsreader on the TV said. I looked at the screen. My heart dropped into my stomach. It was the same street as 221B. The headline at the bottom of the screen said ‘House destroyed on Baker St.’ I gulped.  
“ As yet, there are no reports of any casualties, and the police are unable to say if there is any suspicion of terrorist involvement.” the newsreader continued. I was already on my feet and I hurried around the sofa to grab my jacket before heading towards the door. I said goodbye to Sarah before leaving into the cold air.  
I arrived at Baker street. I headed towards the police cordon and made my way through the small crowd of gawking onlookers. Have they not got lives? I finally managed to get into my flat.   
“Sherlock. Sherlock!” I shouted as I ran up the flight of stairs. I ran into the living room. I noticed the boarded up windows and them to her armchair where she was sitting in her purple shirt which I like to call the ‘Purple Shirt of Sex’ under her black suit jacket. She seems uninjured which was good. I should never have left. She is intermittently plucking the strings of her violin that she is holding on her chest while she glared towards my chair.   
“John.” Sherlock said, looking at me. I looked over to my chair and realised the reason for Sherlock annoyance. Her older brother Mycroft was sitting in my chair.   
“I saw it on the telly. Are you okay?” I asked, Sherlock. I was examining her from a distance. I couldn’t see any injuries which were good.  
“Hmm? What?” she asked, she looked around at the mess of broken glass and scattered paperwork she seemed to forget about. “Oh, yeah. Fine. Gas leak, apparently.” she said. She turned her attention back to her brother who is staring at her pointedly while she plucks her violin strings.  
“I can’t.” she said bluntly.  
“Can’t”?” Mycroft repeated.   
“The stuff I’ve got on is just too big. I can’t spare the time.” she said. I looked at her in disbelief.  
“Never mind your usual trivia. This is of national importance.” Mycroft insisted.  
“How’s the diet?” she asked, sulkily plucking at the strings of her violin.  
“Fine. Perhaps you can get through to him, John.” Mycroft replied, not rising to the implied insult.  
“What?” I asked as I was checking the damage of the windows.  
“I’m afraid my brother can be very intransigent.” Mycroft replied. Sherlock scoffed.  
“If you’re so keen, why don’t you investigate it?” Sherlock asked.  
“No-no-no-no-no. I can’t possibly be away from the office for any length of time – not with the Korean elections so …” Mycroft trailed off as he noticed that me and Sherlock were looking at him in surprise.  
“Well, you don’t need to know about that, do you?” he said, smiling humorlessly, which told me that he wanted us to forget what he had just said. “Besides, a case like this – it requires... legwork.” he said, grimacing. Sherlock mis-plucks one of her strings, she turns to me in irritation.   
“How’s Sarah, John? How was the lilo?” she asked.   
“Sofa, Sherlock. It was the sofa.” Mycroft said, consulting his pocket watch. Sherlock looked me up and down briefly.  
“Oh yes, of course.” she said, going back to plucking the strings.  
“How ...? Oh, never mind.” I said incredulously. I sat down on the coffee table and Mycroft smiled at me.   
“Sherlock’s business seems to be booming since you and he became ... pals.” Mycroft said. Sherlock gave him a dark look. “What’s he like to live with? Hellish, I imagine.”   
“I’m never bored.” I replied.  
“Good! That’s good, isn’t it?” Mycroft said, smiling condescendingly. Sherlock glares at him as he stands up. Sherlock picks up her violin bow and whips one end through the air in front of Mycroft. I smiled slightly. Mycroft stepped forwards and offered the folder to Sherlock but she looked at him stubbornly. Mycroft turns and offers the folder to me instead.   
“Andrew West, known as Westie to his friends.” Mycroft said. I took the folder reluctantly. “A civil servant, found dead on the tracks at Battersea Station this morning with his head smashed in.” he continued.  
“Jumped in front of a train?” I suggested.  
“Seems the logical assumption.” Mycroft said with a smirk.  
“But ...?” I said, smirking briefly. “Well, you wouldn’t be here if it was just an accident.”   
I noticed that Sherlock, who was now applying rosin to her bow with a small cloth smirking.  
“The M.O.D. is working on a new missile defence system – the Bruce-Partington Programme, it’s called.” Mycroft said, looking at Sherlock as I started to flick through the folder. “The plans for it were on a memory stick.” I laughed quietly.  
“That wasn’t very clever.” I said looking up at Mycroft. I noticed Sherlock’s smile in agreement.  
“It’s not the only copy.” Mycroft replied, raising his eyebrows slightly. “But it is a secret. And missing.”  
“Top secret?” I asked.  
“Very. We think West must have taken the memory stick. We can’t possibly risk it falling into the wrong hands.” Mycroft said, turning back to Sherlock “ You’ve got to find those plans, Sherlock. Don’t make me order you.” Sherlock breathed in heavily through her nose and raised the violin to her shoulder.   
“I’d like to see you try.” she said calmly. I smirked. Mycroft leaned down to her in an attempt to look more threatening.   
“Think it over.” He said. Sherlock stares back at her older brother looking unimpressed. Mycroft turned to me and offered his hand to shake.   
“Goodbye, John.” he said. I stood up and shook his hand. He gave me a creepy smile. “See you very soon.” he said slowly. I had agreed to meet up with him once a month to talk about Sherlock. Obviously Sherlock doesn’t know. Not to my knowledge anyway. I tried not to look nervous. Mycroft walked towards the chair to pick up his coat. Sherlock begins to play the violin really badly. I frowned at him but she continued to play until her older brother left the room. She finishes and lowers the violin still looking rather annoyed. I sat back down on the coffee table and waited until Mycroft left the building. You’ve got nothing on – not a single case. That’s why the wall took a pounding. Why did you tell your brother you were busy?”  
“Why shouldn’t I?” she said, shrugging. I scoffed.  
“Oh! I see.” I said nodding. Sherlock looked in my direction. “Sibling rivalry. Now we’re getting somewhere.” I continued. Sherlock was about to defend herself when her mobile phone began to ring. She fished her phone out of her pocket.   
“Sherlock Holmes.” she said, answering. She listened for a moment, a small smile appeared on her face. “Of course. How could I refuse?” she said, hanging up the phone. She put her violin onto the seat and began to walk towards the living room door. “Lestrade. I have been summoned. Coming?” she asked.  
“If you want me to.” I replied with a small smile.  
“Of course.” she said, picking up her navy coat and turned to face me. “I would be lost without my blogger. I took that as an apology for last night.


	11. The Next Case.

Before we managed to leave the flat, Sherlock decided to get changed into a white shirt instead of the purple one. I asked her about it but she just said it was too tight to run in. I didn’t notice it. We finally arrived at New Scotland Yard and met with Detective Inspector Lestrade at the reception. He led us across the office area to his office which was more private.   
“You like the funny cases, don’t you? The surprising ones.” Lestrade said, sitting down behind his desk. Me and Sherlock decided to keep standing which I hoped told Lestrade we don’t want to stay long.  
“Obviously.” Sherlock replied, smirking.   
“You will love this. That explosion…” Lestrade trailed off.   
“Gas leak, yes?” she asked.   
“No.” Lestrade replied.   
“No?” Sherlock replied, sounding quite surprised.  
“No. Made to look like one.” Lestrade said. He sounded proud of himself.   
“What?” I asked, now confused.  
“Hardly anything left of the place except a strong box – a very strong box – and inside it was this.” Lestrade said, pulling out a white envelope.   
“You haven’t opened it?” Sherlock asked, picking it up.  
“How reassuring!” she said, hesitating slightly as she examined it. She took it across the room to another table which had a lamp. She examined both sides carefully. On the front in elegant handwriting are the words. “Willow Sherlock Holmes” by hand.” Who knew her full name?   
“Nice stationery. Bohemian” she commented.  
“What?” Lestrade asked.  
“From the Czech Republic. No fingerprints?” she asked. Her voice didn’t seem to waver at the fact the person wrote her full name.  
“No.” Lestrade replied quietly.  
“She used a fountain pen. A Parker Duofold…” she trailed off.  
““She”?” I questioned.  
“Obviously.” she said bluntly.  
“Obviously!” I said, trying not to sigh. Sherlock picks up the letter opener from the desk and carefully slits the envelope open. She looked inside and pulled out a pink phone.   
“But that’s - that’s the phone, the pink phone.” I said in shock.   
“What, from the Study in Pink?” Lestrade asked. I smiled.  
“Well, obviously it’s not the same phone but it’s supposed to look like …” Sherlock trails off. Sally decided to waltz into the room to put some files down on the desk. “The Study in Pink? You read his blog?” Sherlock asked after being silent for a few moments.   
“Course I read his blog! We all do. D’you really not know that the Earth goes round the Sun?” Lestrade asked, in shock. Sally sniggered loudly and Sherlock glared at her as she took off her gloves. I looked down in embarrassment. Sally finally leaves the room and Sherlock turns her concentration back to the pink Iphone.   
“It isn’t the same phone. This one’s brand new.” she said, looking at the connection sockets. “Someone’s gone to a lot of trouble to make it look like the same phone, which means your blog has a far wider readership.” she said, throwing me an accusatory look at me, I tried my best to just ignore it. Sherlock switches on the phone and it pinged. Sherlock unlocked the phone. 

“You have one new message.” the voice on the phone said. The message plays but there is no voice, just pips. Four short pips played out but another pip played out which was longer than the first four.  
“Is that it?” I asked.   
“No. That’s not it.” Sherlock asked, looking at the phone in concern. I looked over her shoulder to see. It was a picture of an unfinished room with a fireplace on one wall. The wallpaper was peeling and there was a tall mirror propped up in one corner. A smaller mirror - the type which is usually hung up above a fireplace - is standing on the mantelpiece.   
“What the hell are we supposed to make of that? An estate agent’s photo and the bloody Greenwich pips!” Lestrade exclaimed over her shoulder. Sherlock looked thoughtfully into the distance.   
“It’s a warning.” she said.   
“A warning?” I repeated.   
“Some secret societies used to send dried melon seeds, orange pips, things like that. Five pips. They’re warning us it’s gonna happen again.” she briefly looks down at the phone again, then brandishes the phone as she starts to leave the office. “I have seen this place before.”   
“What is going to happen?” I asked, following her out of the office.   
“Boom!” she said as she turned back and raised her hands dramatically. She heads off quickly with me and Lestrade struggles to keep up with her.   
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
We arrived at Baker Street shortly after. Lestrade and Sherlock and myself headed towards the door within 221B that read ‘221C’.   
“Mrs Hudson” Sherlock shouted.  
Moments later Mrs Hudson opens the front door of 221A and hands Sherlock a set of keys. She examines the padlock that was attached to the door and begins to open it.  
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Sherlock slowly pushes open the door to the living room and walks inside, followed by me and Lestrade. The room looks exactly as it did in the photograph on the phone with one exception: there is a pair of trainers placed neatly side by side in the middle of the floor, their toes pointed towards the door.  
“Shoes.” I said. I felt a bit stupid. Sherlock started to walk towards them but I held out a hand towards her. “He is a bomber, remember.” I said, I could feel the anxiety rising in my throat. Sherlock stopped for a moment then continued rather slowly towards the trainers. She crouches down then puts her hands on the floor and leans forwards. Just as she was about to touch them… the phone rings. Causing me and Sherlock and even Lestrade to jump slightly.  
“Hello?”she said slowly. She put the pink phone on speaker phone so we could all hear.   
“H-hello… sexy.” a woman's voice said shakily. Me and Lestrade exchanged puzzled looks as the woman on the phone sobbed.   
“Who’s this?” Sherlock asks.   
“’ve ... sent you ... a little puzzle ... just to say hi.” she said, tearfully. She sounded like she was forced to say these things.   
“Who’s talking? Why are you crying?” Sherlock asks rather coldly. I rolled my eyes.   
“I-I’m not ... crying ... I’m typing ...and this ... stupid ... bitch ... is reading it out.” she replied, sobbing. Sherlock gazed thoughtfully into the distance.   
“The curtain rises.” Sherlock said softly.   
“What?” I asked, frowning at her.  
“Nothing.” she replied, quietly.   
“No, what did you mean?” I asked. Sherlock turns her head towards me and smirks.   
“I have been expecting this for some time.” she answered.   
“Twelve hours to solve… my puzzle, Sherlock… or I’m going… to be… so naughty” the woman said, sobbing. The phone went dead. Looks like the game is on.


	12. The Great Game.

I sat in my red armchair, writing my blog. Sherlock decided to come in. She seemed off today probably because of the Pool and finally meeting Moriarty. Not the nicest of blokes but he seemed to be able to underneath Sherlock’s skin. She didn’t like that. I continued to write.‘  
‘And then the pink phone rang. It was a woman. She was crying. It turns out that whoever was organising all this had arranged for this woman to be kidnapped and wrapped in explosives. If she didn't say exactly what she was told to say... Sherlock, naturally, was immediately caught up in the adventure. Didn't even register that some innocent person somewhere was going through Hell. The crying woman told us we had twelve hours to solve the first problem.  
We went to Barts so that Sherlock could examine the trainers. I, as usual, didn't have a clue what the question was and never mind the answer. We met up with Molly Hooper who introduced us to her boyfriend, Jim. Apparently, he worked in IT. There's that word 'apparently' again. Oh, and I've just seen how they first met .  
Anyway, Jim left and Sherlock revealed to Molly that the bloke was clearly gay. As usual, she didn't care that this might, you know, not exactly be what she wanted to hear!  
So, back to the trainers. Sherlock naturally got me to humiliate myself by examining them myself and getting everything wrong. He told me that they were twenty years old and that the pollen on them revealed they were from Sussex. Then he remembered a name - Carl Powers, a boy who had died when Sherlock was a kid. Everyone had assumed it was a tragic swimming accident but Sherlock was always confused by the boy's missing trainers. Now they'd turned up twenty years later and addressed him. Sherlock discovered traces of Clostridium botulinum on Carl's trainers and concluded that he'd been murdered - the poison having been introduced to Carl's eczema medicine. Sherlock needed to let the killer know she'd worked it out so she typed a message on her website. I know some of you were confused by her bizarre posts the other day .  
The crying woman then phoned again and was allowed to tell us where she was. The police found her and she was ok. Sherlock pissed me off though. He described the whole set-up as elegant. I asked her what he meant and he said that "I can't be the only person to get bored". Clearly, the killer was targeting her directly and he loved it.  
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.  
Another message. Another photo. This time it was an abandoned sports car. The phone rang. It was a man, as terrified as the woman had been earlier. He told us we had eight hours. â–“â–“â–“â–“â–“â–“â–“â–“ from Scotland Yard located the car and Sherlock examined it. It had been hired from a company called Janus Cars by a man called â–“â–“â–“ â–“â–“â–“â–“â–“â–“â–“â–“ - a man who had disappeared. This one was pretty straightforward for Sherlock. Just one chat with the missing man's wife and a visit to Janus Cars and he had it all wrapped up. It was a simple insurance scam. Again, he posted the answer on his blog. The man wrapped in explosives was found and released. Turns out he'd been in central London. God, if Sherlock had got it wrong... The other thing is, like I say, she was enjoying it. Her and this mysterious killer were playing a game. Me, Mrs H, the people with the bombs, everyone else, we were just pawns. I thought back to a name we'd heard a couple of times - Moriarty. Could this be him? When I mentioned this, Sherlock's eyes lit up.  
Beep. Beep. Beep.  
Another message. A third photo. This time it was someone I recognised but Sherlock didn't have a clue who she was. It's nice to occasionally be the clever one. The picture was of the recently deceased Connie Prince . Apparently, she'd died as a result of a tetanus infection but clearly our killer was suggesting otherwise. Again, we received a phone call. This time it was an old woman - and she was blind. I mean, who would do that? How could anyone do that? I went along to visit Connie's brother, Kenny. Sherlock went onto some internet forums and, with his usual tact and diplomacy, got answers that way . Between us, we worked out that while Connie's death had been made to look like the result of a tetanus infection, it had actually been caused by poison - their houseboy, â–“â–“â–“â–“â–“, had overdosed her on Botox! It would have almost been funny were it not for what happened next. Sherlock posted a message to his blog and, like before, the old woman called us. But this one made a mistake. She started to tell us about the man who'd tied her up and... He blew her up.  
She lived in a block of flats. In Glasgow. Twelve people died.  
I still can't quite get my head around it. This game between Sherlock and his... nemesis? Is that the right word? Twelve totally random innocent people had died because of it. I got so angry with Sherlock that morning. She didn't care. She admitted it. She just didn't care. As she pointed out, caring wouldn't save lives. I asked her if she found it easy not to care and she said yes. It was that simple. Maybe Sally Donovan is right. Maybe he is a freak.  
Beep. Beep.  
Another photo. This time of the Thames. Sherlock called Scotland Yard and they told her about a body that had been pulled out of the river. We went along and within minutes, Sherlock had worked out he was a security guard and that he was probably linked to a lost painting that had recently been rediscovered and put on display at the Hickman Gallery. Oh, and she revealed that the painting was a fake. I could explain how he did it but I think it's one of those 'you had to be there' moments. She also worked out what had killed the security guard. I say 'what' although technically it was 'who'. But, having seen the man, 'what' is probably a better definition. He was an assassin known as the Golem. He killed people by squeezing the air out of their body with his bare hands! Why he would have done this to some poor security guard was still a mystery so I went to the guy's flat and discovered a voicemail message from a Professor â–“â–“â–“â–“â–“â–“. She had called him in response to him having discovered that something somewhere was wrong. The only other clue was that he was into astronomy. Sherlock worked out that the Golem had killed the security guard because he'd worked out that the painting was a fake. We concluded that Professor â–“â–“â–“â–“â–“â–“ worked at a planetarium and rushed over there. But we were too late. The Golem was there and it killed her. Then, it attacked Sherlock. I don't think I've actually seen her scared before. Me, I was bricking it! I'd seen horror in Afghanistan. But this man was barely human. He really was a monster! I managed to rescue Sherlock (by whacking the Golem with my gun - I never said I was subtle) but the creature got away.  
We returned to the gallery and Sherlock confronted the curator. She denied everything - insisting that the painting was real - and there didn't seem to be much we could do. Then the phone rang once more.  
It was a child.  
The child started to count down from ten. Sherlock was screaming into the phone that the painting was a fake but the killer clearly wanted proof. Sherlock stared at the painting as the child continued to count down to his own death. And then Sherlock, at the last minute, worked it out. It was how the security guard had guessed it was a fake and why she'd phoned a professor at a planetarium. There was a supernova in the painting that didn't appear in our skies until 1858. Therefore, the painting couldn't have been painted by an artist living in the 1640s. The child stopped counting.  
The curator admitted that she'd arranged for the painting to be created. She'd been put in touch with various people and they'd all seemed to be working for one man. You've guessed it. Moriarty.  
Back at the flat, and we waited for another call. Nothing seemed to be happening though so I decided to visit my girlfriend, Sarah. I had just left the flat when a taxi pulled up alongside me. The taxi driver asked if I wanted a lift but I told him I was getting the Tube. He then said that he hadn't been asking me, he'd been telling me. I looked at him and I saw the gun pointing at me and so I got into the taxi.  
They must have knocked me out because the next thing I can remember is waking up to the smell of chlorine. I was in a sports centre, near the swimming pool. And I was wearing a bomb. I could feel it under the jacket they'd put me in. Then a voice sounded in my ear and I realised I was wearing some kind of earpiece. It said that I knew the drill and I was to repeat word-for-word what he said otherwise I'd never be writing my blog again.  
I was made to walk out into the swimming pool area where, I discovered, Sherlock was waiting. The voice in my ear, which I vaguely recognised, told me to say some stuff - which, I realised, gave the impression that I was behind it all. That I, John Watson, was Moriarty. I could see the look in Sherlock's eyes - a flash of, not anger, but hurt. For a second, she looked like a little, lost child. I should have been horrified that she'd even doubt me for a second but, to be honest, it was so refreshingly human of her. She actually did value our friendship. She did, despite himself, care. Then she saw the explosives on me and she realised what was happening.  
And at that moment, out stepped Moriarty. It was Jim. Molly Hooper's boyfriend from the IT department at Barts! Even that little meeting had been part of the game. The two of them talked, both clearly pleased to, at last, be face to face. Again, I felt like a pawn in their game. Especially when a laser sight appeared on my chest. One wrong move and some stranger in the dark would shoot the explosives. I watched as they talked. Jim Moriarty was the total opposite to Sherlock but they were also so very alike. He was a consulting criminal. People came to him and he arranged whatever they wanted. And while they talked, I stood there wearing enough explosives to kill all of us. I was the only one who seemed even aware of this. Suddenly, I grabbed Moriarty. I knew that his assistant wouldn't kill him. But the laser sight simply moved to Sherlock's head and I was forced to let go. For a second, I wondered if Sherlock would have done the same for me but then all I knew for certain was, at that moment, I knew I was going to die.  
Except I didn't because Moriarty changed his mind. He said that he'd kill Sherlock one day but that, for now, he was letting us go. It really was just a game to him. He left and Sherlock ripped the explosives off of me. We were getting our breath back when suddenly so many laser sights appeared. Moriarty returned and said he had changed his mind again!! We were going to die, after all. Sherlock simply pointed her gun at the discarded explosives. If we were going to die, so was Moriarty.  
I held my breath for what seemed like months. I had no idea what either of them would do. Moriarty clearly had no discernible human feelings and Sherlock had claimed not to care. Could this be it? Was I really going to die? In a sports centre?  
Which is when Moriarty's phone rang. He took the call and called off his gunman. He was letting us live. And, as I finally breathed out, he left.  
And that's how Sherlock Holmes and I lived to see another day.’  
I sighed as I finished typing. That case was a rollercoaster that could have been mine and Sherlock’s death. I posted the blog post and decided to look at holiday’s. After all of that I believe that we deserve a break. Definitely Sherlock. She has been through so much and so have I but not as much as she. Sherlock sat across from and smiled slightly.   
“If you were to go on holiday. Where would you go?” I asked. She frowned at me. “I am just asking Sherlock. I don’t have an ulterior motive.” Sherlock seemed to be on edge at everything. Last night, I asked what she wanted to eat and she flinched from the words.   
“New Zealand is nice this time of year.” she replied. New Zealand. I haven’t been.   
“I was thinking of going on holiday. New Zealand is a good place to go.” I said.   
“What about Sarah?” she asked.   
“No… I am going to break up with her.” I said. It was never going to work out between me and Sarah. She wasn’t my type. I wasn’t even sure what my type was.   
“Oh…” she trailed off.   
“So… do you want to go for a few weeks?” I asked.   
“Yes. I will still need to solve cases but I can do that over video call.” she said. I smiled.   
“When do you want to go?” I asked, going onto a travel website.   
“Tomorrow.” she said quickly.  
“Tomorrow? That is a bit soon.” I replied.   
“I want out of London. I will ask Mycroft to sort it all out. He owes me for getting the pen drive.” She said. I could see the sadness in her eyes so I nodded. Tomorrow it is.


	13. The First Day.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello Everyone! Remember to comment and stuffs.   
> TW// READ TAGS.

I pulled out my suitcase which I placed under my bed. Just as I did in my old flat. I packed t-shirts and shorts. I made sure to pack toiletries for the both of us. Sherlock tends to forget about it. I zipped it up and went to put the suitcase in the living room so I did not forget it tomorrow morning. Mycroft booked us a private plane that will leave at 4am tomorrow morning. He even booked us a small cottage which I hoped had two bedrooms. But I had a funny feeling that Mycroft was trying to do something. I know that Sherlock is not my type. I sat in my armchair with a sigh. Sherlock came in with her luggage. I looked at her. She looked worse than earlier. I had a sinking feeling that she was heading into a dark place. I have to be there for her. She is my friend, probably my best friend. She sat in her armchair and placed her head in her hands.   
“Do you want to talk about anything?” I asked. She didn’t look at me.   
“No…” she said, quickly. She was looking on her phone now. I sighed. “Do you want to talk about anything John?” she asked.   
“No. I am all good. Still a bit shaken up but I am fine.” I replied, with a smile. She looked at me quickly before going back to her phone.   
The next morning we were sitting at the back of a black vehicle, the same one as the one I was driven in to see Mycroft. Sherlock did not once look up from her phone. I glanced at what she was looking at. She was reading my blog. I decided to not ask her about it. It would most likely cause an argument. The car came to a stop and we got out taking our luggage with us.   
“According to Mycroft, after we arrive in New Zealand, a car will be waiting for us.” Sherlock said, putting her phone back in her pocket. I smiled. We got onto the plane and I smiled. It was spacious. Well spacious for a plane. I put my luggage in the overhead compartment and sat down. Sherlock decided to sit across from me even though there were seats on the other side. I didn’t complain. She took out her notebook that she uses for cases.   
“Got a case?” I asked.   
“Yes, it is dull. It is only to pass the time.” she replied.   
“What is it about?” I asked.   
“A woman was murdered in Glasgow last night in her flat. It is quite obvious, brother.” she said, looking at me.   
“Obvious?” I replied. She rolled her eyes. The plane began to go down the runway.   
“Yes. Miss Hayfield had a party last night. By looking at CCTV footage the last person to leave her flat was her brother.” Sherlock replied. I nodded and looked out the window.   
I closed my eyes, listening to the writing and the plane engine. We were alerted by the pilot that we will need to stop at Dubai just for a rest. Understandable. It is 28 hours to get from London to Queenstown in New Zealand.   
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
“It is a lovely apartment.” I commented as I yawned. We finally made it to the apartment after 28 hours of traveling.   
“It only has one bed, John.” Sherlock complained. I rolled my eyes.   
“We are friends, we can share a bed. But if it makes you so uncomfortable. I can sleep on the sofa.” I said, putting the luggage on the king's sized bed. Sherlock looked at me for a moment.   
“It is fine. We will just need to live with it.” Sherlock replied. She looked like she was going to kill Mycroft. I looked around. It was incredibly spacious. The views were amazing. The hills reminded me of the Lord of The Rings trilogy. Stamford used to always call me Bilbo Baggins cause according to him, I reminded him of the hobbit. I smiled and sighed in relief. It was nice to be out of London. I checked the time. It was 4pm. Too early to go to bed. I walked back into the bedroom to see Sherlock on her phone. I rolled my eyes. At that moment my phone pinged. I took it out of my jean pocket.   
‘I hope my sister is behaving. I hope that the place is suitable for the two of you. -MH’ I smirked at his text. Even through text I can hear him smirk.   
‘It is great. Thank you. There is only one bed -JW’ I typed quickly, before putting it back in my pocket. Sherlock was still on her phone.   
“Are you going to be on your phone for the whole 2 weeks we are here?” I asked, getting quite annoyed.   
“Probably.” she replied. I groaned in annoyance. “What do you want to do then?” she asked, looking up at me. I could see the coldness in her eyes.   
“Not anything today. A bit jet lagged.” I replied, looking down at my shoes. She just went back to her phone. I sighed.   
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
The night came quickly, and the anxiety crept into my chest. As the time continued to tick, the more I dreaded to sleep next to Sherlock especially when she was in this mood. Throughout the evening, she refused to eat or even talk. I began to notice how pale she actually was and how thin she was. She was wearing the ‘Purple shirt of sex’ again, the shirt that used to be tight around her was now baggy. This worried me greatly to the point I couldn’t eat my dinner which I had made out of the food that was left by the hosts. I binned two plates tonight. I wanted to question her but decided against it due to the fact we are on holiday and she deserves a break from the endless questions whether it be about the cases or her health. I sat on the sofa trying not to fall asleep at 7pm. I wanted to try and get to sleep at 9pm so my body clock can figure itself out. I looked over at Sherlock who was curled up on the other side. She wasn’t on her phone but she wasn’t talking. I wanted to hug her and tell her it will be alright. She looks like she is in pain all the time and it kills me everyday. She is my friend. The only friend I truly felt close to. I reached over and placed a hand on her leg. She didn’t remove it. After a few minutes she got up and sat right next to me. Her knees touched my thigh. I looked at her with a mixture of confusion and surprise.   
“Tell me what is going through your head Sherlock.” I said, gently. I could see tears form in those ocean coloured eyes. I placed a hand on her cheek in a way of comforting her. She wrapped her arms around me and sat on my lap. I sat there frozen for a few moments. Before hugging her in return. “You know, I hate seeing my friend in this amount of pain. Please tell me what is wrong.” I said, trying not to sound like I was begging her to tell me.   
“I don’t know what is wrong with me, John.” she replied, trying to hold back the tears.   
“Nothing is wrong with you, Sherlock. You are just feeling low at the moment.” I said, placing my hand in her black curly hair. She just leaned into my shoulder.   
“Yes there is, everyone thinks I am a freak.” she said, breathing heavily.   
“I don’t think you are a freak, I know I said that on my blog but… I am sorry.” I said feeling guilty.   
“Maybe you are right. I am a freak. I have always been one.” she replied, I could feel wetness on my shoulder which indicated she was crying. I rubbed her back.   
“You are not a freak. Listen to me.” I said, moving so I could look at her in the eyes. “You are perfect as you are. Even though you may be rude at some points but that is just you. You are safe with me. I promise.” She looked at me for a minute. Her cheeks were shining from the tears. I wanted to wipe them away but I thought against it.   
“I want to go to bed.” Sherlock said, standing up. “Not alone.”   
“Okay, let me brush my teeth and I will be right in.” I said. I walked into a separate bathroom than her and brushed my teeth.   
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
I walked into the bedroom to see Sherlock sitting above the duvet in her nightgown. It was rather elegant. I lay beside her. We didn’t talk. She pulled the covers over us. After a few minutes of lying in the lamp lit room. I decided to talk.   
“What do you want to do tomorrow?” I asked, trying not to bring up what just happened.   
“What about a hike?” she suggested and I smiled.   
“Sounds lovely. Ben lomond is not too far from here. We can go there.” I suggested and she nodded. She reached over to turn the lamp off. I lay there, staring up to the ceiling. She placed her head on my chest as we lay in the dark. I wanted to push her off just because this is usually an act of someone who was in a relationship but realized Sherlock probably didn’t realize.   
The next morning, the warmth of Sherlock was gone. I quickly got up and went to find her. I checked the time it was 6am. I found her on the balcony. Looking out at the view. I grabbed my camera and took a picture. She looked relaxed. I opened the sliding doors.   
“Good morning.” I said with a smile. She returned the smile. “Have a good sleep?” I asked.   
“Yes, I did. You?” she asked, we both leaned on the balcony railing, looking at the view which was a lake and the mountains or hills. I can never tell. I was still exhausted but I need to get through the day without sleeping. Coffee it is. I walked into the kitchen and poured me and Sherlock a cup of coffee. She took it with a smile.   
“What do you want to do for breakfast?” I asked, waiting for her to refuse it.   
“There is a nice cafe across the road, we can go there but can we go to a convenience store. I need a few things.” she said, sipping her coffee. I smiled at her and nodded.   
I quickly got ready and waited by the front door. Sherlock decided to take her sweet time. She seemed in a better mood today so I didn’t want to ruin it.   
We left and entered the cafe which was exactly across from us. I decided to order some scrambled eggs and Sherlock asked for french toast. I smiled at her which I got a glare in return.   
“I am eating to make you happy.” she said, bluntly. I rolled my eyes but didn’t answer.   
“What are you needing from the store?” I asked.   
“Razors…. For shaving my legs and deodorant.” she replied. I nodded slowly. I pulled out my phone and texted Mycroft.   
‘Is Sherlock allowed to shave by herself?-JW’ I put my phone on the table as our food arrived. I smiled at the waitress. She smiled in return. Sherlock rolled her eyes. My phone ranged. I checked who was calling and so did Sherlock.   
“I should take this outside…” I said, standing up and walking outside. Sherlock rolled her eyes again.   
“Hello, Mycroft.” I said finally answering the phone.   
“Good Morning, John. I received your text. Mrs Hudson usually supervised Sherlock when she was shaving. I am surprised you had not noticed. But I would prefer if she was. The last time she was alone it did not end well…” Mycroft trailed off. He seems to do that a lot when talking about Sherlock.   
“What happened?” I asked, looking behind me in case Sherlock decided to listen in.   
“Let’s just say, it was another hospital visit… Now John, enjoy your holidays” the phone hung up. I rolled my eyes and walked back inside. Sherlock was playing with her french toast. I sat down.   
“What did he want?” she said, coldly.   
“Just wondered if we liked the apartment... “ I lied. Sherlock didn’t look convinced but she seemed to drop the subject. I began to eat.   
I placed my fork on my empty plate and looked up to see Sherlock’s plate still untouched.   
“Eat something please.” I said, gently. Sherlock looked at me and back at her plate.   
“I am trying.” she replied, I could hear the sadness in her voice.   
“I know you are. Here…” I said, picking up her plate. I grabbed a knife and fork and cut the toast into small pieces. “Eat 6 pieces of the french toast and I will be happy.” I said with a smile. Sherlock picked up a piece and looked at it as if she was hoping it would vanish. I put my hand on top of her free one. She looked at me and smiled. She began to eat it. I looked down, trying to give her some privacy when she ate. I looked up after 5 minutes and noticed the 6 pieces I had requested were all gone. I removed my hand and smiled. “Well done, Sherlock. Now want to go to the store?” I asked. She smiled and nodded.   
We walked out of the cafe after I paid for our food and walked down the street. Sherlock was looking at the views and I was looking at Sherlock. Her eyes seemed brighter due to the sun shining on them. They were beautiful. I looked down. I could tell I went slightly pink at my own thoughts.


	14. The Biggest Arguement.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW// SELF HARM MENTIONED.

The two weeks flew by. We hiked. We talked. And we had fun. That was all I could ask for. To see Sherlock relax. Yes we had a few moments where she would not talk or eat but except from that it was good. I knew that I would miss the warmth beside me once we were back in cold and rainy London. But at least I knew that there would be multiple cases waiting for us once we returned. Sherlock received quite a lot of texts from Lestrade, asking for help. He was shocked when he found out that Sherlock left the country without notifying him. I didn’t know that was a thing.   
As I packed my bags to head home, something felt off. Sherlock had been in the bathroom for 20 minutes. I checked the drawers and found that one of the razors had gone. I knocked on the bathroom door. No reply.   
“Sherlock! Answer me!” I shouted. I waited a few seconds before trying to open the door. It was locked.   
“What?” I heard from the inside of the bathroom, I sighed in relief.   
“What are you doing?” I asked, trying not to panic.   
“Shaving. I am fine John. Here I will unlock the door.” Sherlock replied. I heard footsteps coming towards the door and the click of the lock. I walked in to see Sherlock in shorts and a vest top. Her hair in a messy bun. I looked at her legs. No bleeding. I sighed in relief. I glanced at her right arm. Covered in scars. I looked at her shoulder. Scars but they did not look new. “I am fine.”  
“I am glad. Sorry if I over reacted.” I said.   
“You did.” Sherlock replied, bluntly. She walked towards the shower and turned it off.   
“Well considering your past history with razors, I think I had every right to be worried.” I said, looking at her. She frowned at me.   
“Do you not trust me?” she asked.   
“Not with a razor no.” I replied, more harshly that I wanted. She looked slightly taken aback.  
“That is great…” she said sarcastically. I rolled my eyes and walked back out and went back to packing. “You could trust me, instead of hovering around me nervously. Do you not think I see the nervous looks you give me. You act like I am about to jump off a building any second.” Sherlock said, walking out of the bathroom. I zipped up my suitcase.   
“Well, you could do Sherlock. You did try to kill yourself a week before I met you.” I replied but instantly regretted it. I looked at her. She glared at me darkly. “Look… I am sorry.” I said.   
“Don’t bother, you know nothing about me. You just know what my brother tells you. How about growing some balls and asking me yourself instead of asking Mycroft.” Sherlock replied, darkly. I took my suitcase and placed it in the living room. Sherlock had packed earlier in the day.   
“Look, Sherlock. I am sorry.” I said. I could feel anger rising in me. It was unwanted. I didn’t want to be angry at Sherlock. What she was saying was true.   
“Forget it. You are just some doctor who believes that he is right all of the time.” she snarled.   
“And you are just one lonely detective who believes that everyone is wrong and tries to kill herself because she is upset that people are calling her a freak, when in reality she is!” I said, losing my cool. Sherlock scoffed and picked up her suitcase. I regretted what I said but I stood my ground. Without another word, Sherlock left the apartment. I groaned and picked up my suitcase and went to get into the car that was waiting for us to drive us to the airport.   
I didn’t look at her feeling a mixture of regret, guilt and anger. I looked out the window.   
The plane ride was extremely tense and miserable. Sherlock sat the furthest away she could get from me. Understandable. What I said was unacceptable. What was I thinking? Saying ‘tries to kill herself because she is upset that people call her a freak, when in reality she is!’. The majority of the plane journey was me sitting myself wallowing in self pity. I knew for a fact that Mycroft would be waiting at the airport, preparing to kill me. I had high suspicions Sherlock had messaged him during our journey to the airport.   
I was right. As I got off the plane, Mycroft was standing outside, leaning on his umbrella. I gulped. Sherlock had already got into the car. I walked towards Mycroft.   
“Look, I am sorry for what I said. I honestly did not mean any of it.” I said. Mycroft looked at me and didn’t speak, a few moments passed and Sherlock hit the car window getting impatient in the back seat.   
“I believe you but Sherlock won’t she is always the least forgiving one.” Mycroft drawled. I nodded and quickly got in the car. The car drove off and we headed towards Baker street. Truth be told, I did not want to be in a relatively small space with a person who believes I hate her. I groaned.


	15. Bed Sheets and Hounds.

‘Hello Blog! I know I have been gone. Went on holiday to New Zealand. With Sherlock. It was lovely and just what I needed. But once we got back, it all went weird.I can't say much about the actual case because of the Official Secrets Act but the country was nearly brought to its knees by one person - Irene Adler. She's now under a witness protection scheme so we'll not be seeing her again. And Sherlock seems fine with that.  
Of course, she isn't fine with it, not really. But she'll get there.’  
I finished typing up the blog post. And shut my laptop down. Even though the six months have passed since the argument in New Zealand, me and Sherlock don’t seem to be doing any better. In fact it could be worse. I have decided to allow Sherlock to sort herself out. I know it isn’t a good idea but it saves me getting glares everyday. During the case, she seemed fine but I realized that because she had other things on her mind such as Irene Adler, once it was all over, she seemed to go back to ignoring me and avoiding me. I hate it. I hate feeling like I can’t talk to my best friend or help her.   
“John, you do know Sherlock hasn’t been here since two day ago, right?” Mrs Hudson asked, taking me out of my daydream.   
“I am sure she is fine, Mrs Hudson.” I replied, looking at the empty armchair across from me. Mrs Hudson sat across from me, looking for her phone. Which I had bought her earlier in the month.   
“I received this text ‘Hello, Mrs Hudson. Just to let you know, I am currently in Dartmoor. I am solving a case. See you soon - SH’” she finished. I frowned, I didn’t know she was on a case and felt slightly offended that I was not invited. “She shouldn’t be alone down there, John. What if something happens to her!” Mrs Hudson said, sounding really worried. I sighed.   
“She doesn’t want my help!” I said, loudly. Mrs Hudson, scoffed.   
“She does! You have to go down there! Please! For me John.” Mrs Hudson, pleaded. I sighed.   
“Fine.” I said, reluctantly agreeing. I stood up, and went into my room to pack. I sighed and took out my phone to check train times. One was in 30 minutes. That should be enough time for me to get a cab before getting on the train. I sighed in frustration. I grabbed my suitcase and went onto the street and hailed the cab. Maybe I will enjoy this one.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
I stepped off the train and looked around. I walked over to the map that was on the wall next to the ticket master. Dartmoor was 2 miles away. Was there a bus? Unavailable. For god sake. I sighed and sat on the green bench. I pulled out my phone and dialled Sherlock’s number.   
“Hello?” Sherlock answered. She sounded out of breath.   
“Hi Sherlock, I am at the train station. Can you pick me up? I know that you got a rental car.” I replied. There was no answer for a few minutes. I tried to listen to the background. I couldn’t hear anything apart from the ruffling of sheets.   
“I am a bit busy, John but I should be there in an hour.” she replied eventually.  
“What are you doing?” I asked, frowning. Before I could get an answer there was a moan. A sexual moan. I froze.   
“I am on the phone, Henry. Be quiet.” I heard Sherlock whisper.   
“No, get off the phone…” this guy named Henry said. I felt nauseous. I hung up the phone and sat on the bench staring into the distance. Disgusting. Was she here for a case or to get fucked by some stranger. I wanted to vomit. I didn’t know why. The thought of her with a man disgusted me. I sat on the bench writing into my notebook. It was the only thing to distract me. I heard a cough beside me, I looked up at the person beside me. It was Sherlock. I gave her an awkward smile. She grabbed my bag and headed towards the black land rover. I got in the seat in silence. We drove in silence for a while.   
“How was Henry?” I asked, trying to break the silence.   
“He was good.” she replied, keeping her eyes on the road.   
“Who is he?” I asked, trying not to let the jealousy show in my voice. I didn’t know why I was jealous. It wasn’t like she was my type.   
“He emailed my blog, he wanted me to investigate Dewer's Hollow. His dad was apparently murdered by a hound with burning red eyes…” she said.   
“Could be a wolf?” I suggested.   
“No, it isn’t. I believe it was a murder.” she replied.   
“Why were you having sex with him?” I asked, bluntly. Sherlock coughed uncomfortably.   
“Last night, I decided it would be a good idea to go onto the moors to see if Henry was attacked by anything… turns out he was. It was a big… demon. It had burning red eyes…” She trailed off, she tightened her grip on the wheel until her knuckles were white. “And… I was extremely vulnerable last night and this morning. I just needed to feel close to someone. We didn’t have sex sex. I just gave him a hand job.” she continued. I sighed, and looked out of the window.   
“You didn’t need to go into much detail.” I replied. Sherlock smiled.   
“I wasn’t saying it for you…” she said quietly. I gave her a look of confusion. She didn’t elaborate.   
We arrived at Grimpen village, we pulled into a b&b. It was gorgeous. I could live here forever. If I could.   
“It is beautiful.” I commented.   
“I know I am, John. You don’t have to say it out loud.” she joked. I laughed and looked out the window.   
“I am glad you know.” I replied. Sherlock smirked before opening the car door. I jumped out and followed her inside. She walked up to the bar and talked to two men. I walked to stay beside her.   
“I am afraid there are no other rooms available but if you are willing to share a room. Then you can.” one of the men said. I nodded. It isn’t like we had not slept beside each other before.   
I followed her up the stairs and into a room. There were clothes scattered everywhere and the double bed was stripped entirely.   
“Sorry for the mess. I did try to clean up once Henry left but I was in a rush.” she said, quickly picking up the clothes. I walked over to the window and opened it. I felt awkward being in the same room she and Henry were in.   
“Do you like him?” I asked, leaning on the window sill.   
“Of course not, John.” came the cold reply. I sighed.   
“Right, so what do I need to do now? We have a case to solve.” I asked, changing the subject.   
“We will need to go out on the moors again. I have a theory.” Sherlock replied, tying the scarf back round her neck. I smiled and nodded. Back onto the game.


	16. The Aftermath.

We walked back into the room at the Inn out of breath and sweating. I laughed as Sherlock shut the door. She was sweating as well. She sighed and jumped onto the bed, leaning against the headboard. I smiled and removed her shoes so they didn’t muck up the sheets that I had changed before we left earlier in the day. I took off my shoes and lay beside her, catching my breath.   
“So it was Henry’s father’s friend… I would never have guessed.” I said breaking the comfortable silence. Sherlock hummed in response. I smiled. “Are you wanting to stay here for a few days or go back home?” I asked.   
“Home. I want to see Mrs Hudson.” Sherlock replied. I looked at her. She seemed tired.   
“Get some sleep.” I said, turning over to face the wall. I felt an arm snake it’s way around my stomach. “Are you still feeling vulnerable from last night or the night before?” I asked quietly.   
“Tonight.” was her reply.   
“What did you see?” I asked.  
“Moriarty” she replied, all emotion draining from her voice.   
“Does he scare you?” I asked.   
“He does.” she replied, I turned over to face her. She was looking at me. Those blue eyes were staring into my soul.   
“You aren’t alone, I am here to help you.” I replied with a smile. She smiled in return.   
“I know you are. I apologize for what happened in New Zealand.” she said, quietly.   
“Is Sherlock Holmes apologizing… someone call the papers!” I shouted. I got a whack in the arm in response and the low rumble of her laugh.   
“I am sure they would have a field day.” she replied with a smile. I looked at her again.   
“You know, you are my best friend right?” I asked. She smirked.   
“I obviously know that.” she replied and I rolled my eyes. “But, if we are being sentimental, you are my best friend too”   
I smiled and turned off the lamp. We held each other throughout the night, that was the first time I have slept all the way through the night.   
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
We opened the door of 221B and entered the threshold. I sighed in relief at being home. Sherlock hopped up the stairs, I followed behind and placed my luggage in the kitchen so I could put it all in the washing machine. I sat on my armchair and turned on my laptop. I went onto my blog and looked at the comments. But before I could, there was a new post. A post I did not post myself.   
“Sherlock, come here.” I said, my voice shaking. Sherlock walked towards me and looked over my shoulder. I clicked on the blog post that was titled ‘Hello You!’. It was a video. “I didn’t post this.” I said. I pressed play on the video. A familiar voice rang out of my laptop. Moriarty was here. I looked at Sherlock who turned paler as we watched the video. Moriarty walked up the stairs and into the flat. He was basically judging everything. The video came to an end and I shut my laptop and placed it beside the armchair. I looked up at Sherlock who was silent and frozen. I placed a hand on her shoulder but she shook it off and went into her room. I rubbed my face with my hands.   
“Did you and Sherlock have another domestic?” Mrs Hudson asked, coming through the door.   
“We aren’t dating Mrs Hudson and no we didn’t” I replied, giving her a half smile.   
“Why did she look sad as she went to her room?” she asked.   
“Moriarty broke in when we were gone. He posted a video on my blog.” I replied.   
“Oh dear, Why was he here?” Mrs Hudson asked.  
“I don’t know, probably to scare Sherlock.” I said, sadly. Mrs Hudson, placed her hands on my shoulders.   
“I will make you two a cuppa tea.” she said, running off. I smiled. I stood up and walked towards Sherlock’s door. I knocked. No answer. I knocked again. No answer. I gulped. I slowly opened the door to look in. She was sitting on the bed, facing away from the door.   
“Sherlock? Mrs Hudson, is making us a cup of tea.” I said, quietly. The room was bright.   
“Okay… I will be through in a few minutes.” she replied, her voice was shaking. I couldn’t see what she was doing. She was hunched over. I walked around the bed. “Get out, John.” she replied. I stood there, looking at her. I nodded and left. I walked into the kitchen and put the dirty laundry in the washing machine. Trying to get my mind off Moriarty and Sherlock. My heart was breaking for her. Moriarty seems to want to do anything to make her life a misery. I am worried about what will happen next. I know it won’t be good.   
Mrs Hudson placed two mugs of tea on the coffee table before quickly leaving. At the same moment, Sherlock came through still wearing her white shirt but with a black suit coat. I gulped. I knew what she was hiding. I passed her the mug just as she was sitting down on her armchair.   
“Want to talk about it?” I asked, taking a sip of my tea.   
“No, we have to be vigilant. Moriarty could have placed cameras in here.” Sherlock said, quietly. I looked around the room. I couldn’t see anything out of place. “Watch what we say and do. I have checked my bedroom, no cameras in mine.” she whispered. I nodded.   
“Well then, Miss Holmes. It looks like we will need to get rid of a criminal mastermind” I said, sipping my tea nervously.


End file.
